


please could you be tender

by erce3



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018), She-Ra: Princess Of Power (1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Sweethearts, F/F, Pining, Slow Burn, side Mara/Razz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erce3/pseuds/erce3
Summary: “I mean,” explains Adora, “We were friends for so long, and all that. Don’t you–” she swallows, “–don’t you miss me, too?”“You can’t miss someone sitting right across from you,” responds Catra. Adora can’t help but disagree.She looks at Catra expectantly, and after a pause, Catra lets out a long breath. “Fine, fine,” she says. “You’ve always been my favorite ghost, skeleton in the closet, whatever.” Adora frowns over at her. Catra shrugs, evidently unwilling to say anything else. Catra gives her another look that punctuates this, a look that saysstop asking for moreand Adora, folding her hands neatly, does as she's told.





	1. i will love you if i never see you again

**Author's Note:**

> god this au! its So Much i have so much love for it...i promise that it's not always so angsty and it gets super soft.....

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra stares unblinking at her old Game Boy. She's got FireRed powered up, and her sprite is bobbing gently. The thick Californian summer heat has settled beside her – she's sprawled across her dirty old bedroom floor. It’s 7 PM. She knows she should be getting ready for work.

 

Instead, she clicks through to her party. It’s been a long time since she's played this game; she's surprised she remembers her Pokemon. Charizard, obviously, is the only one without a nickname. There are some others: a Ninetails, a Pidgeot, a Gengar. All those have names, because Adora got mad at her and made her name them. She's trying not to think about Adora, though.

 

She's trying not to think at all.

 

The broken fan splutters in the corner next to a couple of boxes. It barely makes any difference in the thick humidity – God, Catra feels so _heavy_. All it does is ruffle a couple papers as it blows hot air. Catra takes in a long-suffering breath. She puts the Game Boy down and sits up, slowly swipes at her forehead in a desperate attempt to wipe off the sweat. She thinks, somewhat hazily: she should get a glass of water. She should go.

 

She doesn’t.

 

Instead, she pulls her legs in, examines the contents of the rest of the open cardboard box next to her, labelled _Catra_ and _Childhood Memories_ on different sides, tenderly puts her Game Boy back in after powering it off. There’s a crumpled ball of construction paper, purple around the edges but otherwise faded out, that she doesn’t think she should open. Of _course_ her dad saved this, she thinks.

 

She closes her eyes as if to resist the temptation, curls her fingers around it, nestled in the palm of her hand. _I shouldn’t open this,_ she thinks with sudden clarity. She opens it anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

(october. 2001.)

 

Adora has never been an easy child. She doesn’t know the wording for that, yet, because she's five. She just knows she's a lot, capital a, capital l, because that’s what her teacher told her mama on the third day of school when she talked to her desk partner too much and got in trouble. She cries, of course, when her mama drives her home.

 

Mara says, _it’s okay, Adora_ , in her perfect accent and in English to prove that she’s serious. Her voice is heavy and quiet and low and a little tired. Mara straightens Adora’s yellow sweater, stares at her seriously. She switches over to Russian, then, to repeat that it’s okay, and then to say that if people don’t love Adora the way she is then they don’t love her at all.

 

Adora doesn’t really know what that means, but her mama punctuates it by giving her a big kiss on the head, so she thinks it’s important. She remembers it, anyway, doesn’t forget it, even if it takes her a decade or so to understand it.

 

The problem with being A Lot is that no one wants to be Adora’s desk partner anymore, ‘cause of what happened with Lonnie and how much Adora talks. Adora is okay with this, sort of, in that she’s always around the other kids in the neighborhood, who are older and don’t want to play with her sometimes and so she's sort of used to it. She makes herself think positive: _it’s okay, maybe I’ll make a new friend_.

 

(Not that Adora has a lot of friends anyway, or friends that like her first over everyone else. She has a lot of the other kind of friends, the not-best friend friends who she plays with on the playground during recess).

 

So her desk partner ends up being Catra, who’s kind of scary but Adora secretly thinks is really cool. Adora marches over to her during recess and says, “I’m Adora,” and then pauses, remembers something she overheard once about being one of those kids that should come with a warning label. After a beat she adds, “and I’m a lot.”

 

Catra scrunches up her nose. “You’re actually kinda tiny,” she says instead of introducing herself, and Adora frowns.

 

“I’m not _that_ short,” she says.

 

“Yes, you are,” says Catra and makes a motion with her hand to indicate that Adora comes up to her chin. Adora pushes her. Catra pushes back harder.

 

Except Catra doesn’t realize that Adora is used to fighting with the other neighborhood kids, so instead of falling, Adora bounces back on her heels and dives at Catra’s stomach. There’s a moment where Catra registers the tiny mass flying at her, widens her eyes, maybe even notices the set expression on Adora’s face.

 

And then they go down against the asphalt, hard, but Catra keeps kicking.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

The crumpled paper says: _i, carta, will mari adora wen we are 21 if we arent both marid_

 

Her name is in red crayon. Adora’s is in pink. It’s decorated with little horses, cats, and swords. Underneath all that, written carefully at the bottom of the page: a phone number Catra knows by heart.

 

She feels a little sick. (It’s not that it’s longing, just that–)

 

 

 

 

 

(october. 2001.)

 

“I’m incredibly disappointed in you both.”

 

Adora has a skinned knee. Catra has a skinned elbow. There’s a scuff on Adora’s cheek from the dirt, some threads fraying on her red coat, and there’s a LEGO bandaid on Catra’s nose because she didn’t like the Hello Kitty ones. Neither of them look guilty, exactly, but Adora is screwing up her face in an effort not to cry.

 

Principal Shadow Weaver marches between them. In the tiny public school office, they’re as far apart as they can get, sitting in tiny uncomfortable plastic yellow chairs. Adora thinks, briefly, about her space book she has at home, and then about the unimaginable distances between the planets. She thinks that Catra feels as far away from Adora as the sun is from the Earth.

 

“I’m going to have to call both of your parents. This school has a strict no tolerance policy.”

 

Catra doesn’t even look ashamed, thinks Adora. She's tuning out Principal Shadow Weaver because if she listens she's going to properly cry and she promised her mama she'd stop crying so much. She scrubs at the corner of her eye with the back of her hand and tries not to drip, thinks about how Catra is looking stubbornly out the window.

 

Catra turns her head to see Adora staring and Adora looks quickly back at Principal Shadow Weaver.

 

(Her mama once said that staring is rude, after all).

 

“Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

 

Catra looks back at the window. Adora looks at the floor. Neither of them have any good answers, really. “No?” says Principal Shadow Weaver coldly. “If I return and _anything_ has happened, the consequences will be severe.” Adora doesn’t know what _consequence_ means, but she can guess by the tone of Principal Shadow Weaver’s voice.

 

She doesn’t look back up until the door slams shut.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra drives to work slower than usual, goes the long route, takes her dad’s old car since her bike isn’t working again. Her eyes keep wandering off the road to the pulsing purple neon signs around town. At some point the speaker in her car starts working, though the AC is still jammed. It’s evening, blue-purple skied, but _so_ hot and sticky and the black pleather seat burns a little against the back of her thighs, though she doesn’t really mind. Just listens to the faint tinny beat of electronic drums and tries not to recite the digits of an old phone number in her head.

 

She's still thinking about Adora.

 

The gummy air doesn’t help much either, reminds her of dozens of summers spent outside the rec center refusing to get in the pool but too hot to stay in the sun. The sun is already low in the sky, and so the pictures of sleepovers full of smuggled candy keep flashing in her mind’s eye, unbidden. She finds herself tapping her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently.

 

She takes a quick right, allows herself a couple moments to think about Adora, to seriously consider dialing the number. It’s unlikely Mara’s moved, Catra thinks to herself, trying to remember the last time she saw Mara or Razz or Adora. It’s likely the number still works. That’s not the problem, though, never has been.

 

(She's always been afraid Adora won’t pick up).

 

It’s not that it’s _longing_ it’s just that–

 

 

 

 

 

(october. 2001.)

 

“Sorry,” mumbles Catra the moment the door shuts. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

 

Adora frowns. “You should have said that earlier,” she says, but her voice is all wobbly and she's really, really going to cry, isn’t she, even though she promised her mama she wouldn’t. She also promised her mama she wouldn’t get in trouble but she's in trouble and she maybe even _hurt_ Catra who is her desk partner and she has to sit next to her and–

 

“Adora,” says Catra, and crosses the room, even though Principal Shadow Weaver just yelled at them not to do that. She's making the first apologetic face Adora has ever seen her make. (And Catra gets in trouble _all_ the time). “I’m really sorry.”

 

Adora looks at her for a while, then sighs. “It’s okay,” she says. “I pushed you first.”

  
Catra pauses. There’s an empty seat next to Adora. They both eye it before Adora realizes what Catra is going to do. It doesn’t seem all that big, looking back, that Catra sits next to Adora and takes her hand and echoes, “It’s okay.” At the time, though, since Adora is on the verge of tears and Catra is looking at her with soft eyes and Principal Shadow Weaver is the scariest thing Adora knows, Adora stops breathing for a moment.

 

“Promise?” she says eventually in a small voice.

 

Catra looks down at their hands and then back at Adora. “I won’t let go,” she offers, and Adora learns that Catra doesn't like to answer questions conventionally. Not that it matters – Adora looks at Catra then, really, with her two different colored eyes and orange sweatshirt with little cat prints on it and realizes that she has all the answer she needs.

 

“Okay,” says Adora. And after a pause, almost bravely, “I won’t, either.”

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

So Catra is a little late to work. So she keeps staring at a punched-in number on her phone. So she's a little grumpier than usual, won’t bag groceries with the usual smile. Scorpia doesn’t mention it, and neither does Lonnie. She does get the warning looks, though, the _I think you ought to work to make up the missing time_ from Lonnie even though Lonnie isn’t technically her boss – Scorpia is.

 

The night progresses as it usually does, slow and dull. Catra’s silently thankful for the ramped-up air conditioning; she’s brought her too-big purple utility jacket for just this reason. The line is long only at the beginning of her shift, and slowly the store empties until it’s really only employees wandering around as Catra slumps over onto the cashier.

 

Her only highlight is when Entrapta stops by to buy some really disgusting concoction of peanut butter and off-brand sodas. And this is coming from Catra, who lived off ramen for a month, who never sleeps, who can’t take care of herself.

 

“No bread?”

 

Entrapta regards her for a moment, pushes her goggles against her nose and hums like a machine. She told Catra once it helped her think. “I’m working an unpaid internship. Very interesting research,” she says, like that helps, “But the price of living is high.” She pauses, then adds, “Plus, peanut butter helps me think.”

 

Catra nods – typical Entrapta business – and rings up the items. She doesn’t say anything else.

 

That’s okay, though, because Entrapta is used to that by now, shrugs and says, “When does your shift end, though, because I haven’t played Mario Kart in months because my older brother told me it’s stupid right now, and you said that once I should tell you when he said those kinds of things to me.”

 

“Two, and he’s dumb,” says Catra on autopilot.

 

“A.M.? That is very late.” She places another product from her shopping cart in front of Catra. Catra takes the jar of peanut butter and scans it with an eyebrow raised. Entrapta doesn’t seem to notice. “San Francisco made him very preoccupied with the concept of cool,” she adds instead and Catra can’t help but snort.

 

“That’ll be ten fifty three.” Catra moves to grab a plastic bag before pausing and remembering, in a slight rush, “do you have a bag for that?” As Entrapta rifles around in her pockets for some money, Catra adds in a deadpan, “The hipsters are coming for me, Entrapta, help.” And then, “ _You’re_ moving to San Francisco.”  

 

“Technically, I’m moving to Silicon Valley,” says Entrapta, and pulls out a fraying grocery bag. “Can’t afford a tax,” she explains as if she’s heard the question enough times to know that this is the right thing to say. She reaches out and scoops everything into it. Catra marvels that it doesn’t break the moment Entrapta lifts it up. “I’ll still be awake, by the way. At two, I mean.” And then, because Scorpia once told her to, she adds, “If you’re interested in being beaten.”

 

“Shut up, Entrapta,” says Catra, secretly grateful that Entrapta doesn’t try to comfort her, because Catra’s always been so _obvious_ whenever she's upset. “I can beat you any day of the week.”

 

That’s a lie, though, and she knows it.

 

 

 

 

 

(october. 2001.)

 

Principal Shadow Weaver tries to make Catra move again, but Adora starts crying and she decides to let them sit like that until their parents come.

 

Only Adora’s mom shows up.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

And then, at one fifteen, Catra gets another customer. Catra doesn’t recognize her at first – the customer’s loading some baking supplies from her shopping cart and her head is bent, and even though she thinks, _wow, that looks like Adora,_ she blames her own stupid mind on calling out the similarities. It’s probably just because the customer’s got her hair up in that familiar ponytail. Catra reasons to herself that when this customer looks up, the illusion will be ruined.

 

It isn’t, of course, because when Adora looks up, her blue eyes widen and go down to Catra’s name tag and back up to Catra’s face and some unrecognizable expression settles on her features. Something Catra doesn’t even want to bother to name settles in her own stomach.

 

She peeks at Adora and bites her lip. Adora is in this soft blue t-shirt, oversized, and jeans and her hair is all disheveled like she just woke up and it’s in a messy ponytail, just like she used to wear in high school, and Catra finds herself trying really hard to breathe regularly. Adora opens her mouth, and then closes it.

 

Catra realizes belatedly that Adora’s studying her the way Catra’s been studying Adora and swallows sudden embarrassment. She’s in her ill fitting polo and a jacket she’s not supposed to be wearing that’s stained in like, four different places, and there are some _serious_ bags under her eyes, whereas Adora looks –

 

Adora looks –

 

“Catra?” says Adora, like she’s just remembered how to speak, snapping Catra out of her thoughts.

 

 

 

 

 

(october. 2001.)

 

Adora dresses up as a knight for Halloween. She asks her mama to pack an old sheet in her backpack, though, just in case, because when Adora asked about two weeks ago Catra said that she didn’t have a costume. Her mama cuts holes in it for her and doesn’t ask why she wants it. Maybe she thinks she's embarrassed of her own costume.

 

It doesn’t matter, because when she gets to school, Catra is in her usual orange worn sneakers and a t-shirt and pants and she's mumbling, “I forgot,” even though Adora knows that’s a lie. Her face is all red and Adora instinctually wants to hit whoever asked.

 

“It’s okay,” says Adora to her softly, when she knows no one else is around. It’s recess, and everyone is playing make-believe games. Mermista is a mermaid currently battling Power Ranger Sea Hawk with a long stick. She’s half surprised that Principal Hordak hasn’t noticed them yet. She’s pulled Catra to the spot in between the art classroom and their first grade classroom, where they’re just barely allowed to go. Adora leans into Catra, pleased with herself, and presses a kiss to Catra’s cheek before whispering, “I have an extra costume.”

 

Catra looks at her with some surprise, like she hadn’t expected Adora to remember that her dad is too busy to help Catra make or buy a costume. Her hand goes instinctually up to the spot where Adora kissed her and she runs the pad of her middle finger over it several times, her mouth a tiny ‘o’. (It’s been a little difficult since Catra’s mom died, but Catra is doing okay, as far as Adora can tell. Except for all the times she gets in trouble, but Adora thinks that’s mostly everyone else’s fault).

 

“It’s a ghost,” says Adora, and then thinks, suddenly, to be embarrassed, swallowing the end of ‘ghost’. She's in intricate cardboard armor that her mama spray painted that’s a little hard to walk in ‘cause it’s clunky, and she’s got a plastic sword on her hip in a sheath that Adora decorated with pink and orange and red rhinestones and a circlet ‘cause she got really excited at the costume store. Her helmet has a single flame-colored feather sticking out of it.

 

But Catra takes Adora’s hands in her own and beams. “I love ghosts,” she says, and okay, that’s a little weird, but Adora doesn’t mind so much. Ghosts are scary, but they’re kinda cool. Or: Catra is Adora’s best friend and Adora is going to be supportive, no matter what, even if Adora didn’t even know Catra liked ghosts until just now.

 

She pulls the sheet out of her backpack. It’s a little wrinkled, so she tries – and fails – to smooth it out before she gives it over to Catra. “It doesn’t have a mouth hole,” says Adora apologetically. “But I guess it means you don’t have to talk to anyone.”

 

Catra’s smile gets impossibly wider. “I only like talking to you,” she stage whispers, and Adora gives her a stupidly big hug, something that means _I love you_ and _I like talking to you best, too_ and then Catra gives her a wet kiss on the cheek. They’re only allowed to exchange those when no one is looking, and Adora’s already given her one today, so Adora knows that Catra really is thankful.

 

It takes the two of them five minutes to get it on right, because Catra insists there needs to be an easy way for her to hold Adora’s hand all the way to their classroom, and then they play hopscotch until the bell rings. No one asks Catra why she has a costume now when she didn’t have one before.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

“Uh, hey,” Catra says, awkward, “Thought you were still in, uh…” she clears her throat.

 

Adora’s eyes are all wide and her lips have parted so that Catra can see the pink of her tongue and Catra swallows something. She considers her options: one, pretend she doesn’t recognize Adora even though she’s already acknowledged her; two, keep talking; three, run? There’s the sudden impulse to call Scorpia over and pretend to be dating her, too, but she's always been a little weak for Adora, and so she sits and waits for Adora to respond.

 

It takes Adora a moment. She looks a little like she’s just woken up from some kind of dream. “Oh,” says Adora. “No, I just finished my junior year.”

 

“Oh,” repeats Catra.

 

“I, uh, just moved back for the summer,” adds Adora and pauses. “These are for my – um, friend, Bow. He bakes.”

 

“Oh,” says Catra again, trying to figure out what Adora means by _friend._ _Why’d you have to say it like that?_ she thinks. Her throat is impossibly dry. Her tongue is heavy. She's suddenly aware of exactly how scratchy her polo is. She feels like she should say something, like, _hey I found that old marriage contract, did you know we’re married by our past selves’ standards_ or, _wow it’s crazy how I was just thinking about you._ Instead, because she keeps returning to Pow or Bow or whatever, she says, “Friend?” like she has some sort of right to be jealous.

 

Adora nods a little too emphatically, clearly pleased to have something to talk about. “Yeah, he makes these fucking amazing brownies. With peppermint and everything. Decorates it with little frosted hearts. And like, everything else he makes is good, too, but well, you know that my favorite is chocolate. I mean.” She pauses to take a breath, a little flushed, and says, “After those gummy candies, of course, the Scooby Doo ones?”

 

“I remember,” says Catra automatically and then blushes. “I, uh, sorry–”

 

“No, it’s okay–”

 

She starts to scan things because she needs something to do with her hands, which are starting to shake slightly. Adora clears her throat. “Still in town, huh? You always said you hated it out here.”

 

Catra blinks and stops halfway scanning a bag of chocolate chips. She's surprised Adora remembers. “I guess I realized I don’t,” she offers, then pauses. She figures she should say something more. Something like, _I stayed with Scorpia in LA for half a year but I hated it_ and _I almost moved out to Portland, but I can’t stand all that rain._ “What have you been up to?” she asks instead, just to try and clear up the awkwardness.

 

Adora brightens and Catra blushes again at the expression. She's not sure why she keeps fucking blushing and not finding the right words, but it’s fine. Adora has always talked enough for the two of them. “I’m here for a job with a research facility, right, just for a bit, because I’m trying to get the funds for grad school. Or also figure out exactly what I want for grad school. I’m still deciding between med school or continuing with Medieval Studies.” She says the last bit in a laugh, like everyone has that problem.

 

“Medieval Studies,” repeats Catra dryly.

 

Adora shrugs. “I did a paper on swords in the Medieval period and then I got hooked,” like fucking _Medieval Studies_ is some kind of drug.

 

Catra doesn’t bother to mention that she’s working three jobs to pay for law school next year, that she’d worked her ass off to make it through the local UC in three years, but Adora kind of notices that Catra is uncomfortable and changes the subject. “In the meantime,” Adora says, quickly, “I’m glad to be back home. I ran into Mermista the other day – crazy, right? She’s super cool now.” She blushes. “I mean, we’re cool now.”

 

Catra can’t remember what drama went down between them, figures it doesn’t matter. She bobs her head. “Yeah, Scorpia and I – we – yeah.” She pauses, then adds, “We’re still friends, though.”

 

“Dated, yeah, I remember,” says Adora. She's always sort of known what Catra is trying to say, even when Catra doesn’t say it. Catra hates herself for slipping into her childhood awkwardness – she’s more than what Adora remembers her to be. “I haven’t seen her in a while. Haven’t really seen anyone. How is she, by the way? Uh, Scorpia, I mean.” She says it like they haven’t been talking about Scorpia the entire time.

 

“Good,” is the instinctual answer. “Uh, she works here?”

 

“Oh cool! I guess I’m lucky I ran into you, huh?”

 

Catra’s not sure what that means. She thinks: _this is your local grocery store_ and _we’ve never been good at sleeping_ and _if you’re in town, it was bound to happen eventually,_ but she says, “I mean, I guess?” and Adora laughs again, but it sounds a little more self-conscious. She quickly corrects herself. “Sorry, I just. I’m surprised, is all.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” says Adora really softly, and Catra has a feeling that’s not what Adora means at all. “It’s been a while, huh.”

 

Catra makes a sort of affirmative noise and says, almost stupidly, “do you want a bag for that?” and Adora nods, face suddenly slipping into a more blank expression. Catra pretends that doesn’t bother her and starts scooping groceries into a brown paper bag while Adora just sort of – hovers, like she doesn’t want to leave.

 

When Catra looks up again, Adora’s looking at her, like – like – and Catra’s mind goes blank trying to describe it. Catra looks down suddenly to punch out the numbers and to say Adora’s total, all monotone. Adora hands over a credit card, gold rewards or whatever, the fancy kind, and it takes all Catra has not to notice how short Adora’s nails are.

 

Adora eventually clears her throat and says, “Hm, well, I guess I should get going. Don’t want to keep Bow waiting for too long. I’ll see you around?”

 

And Catra nods, and it’s not that she's jealous, it’s just that–

 

 

 

 

 

(october. 2001.)

 

Spinerella takes them trick-or-treating. She’s twelve now, so she gets mad when Adora calls her Ella because apparently it’s not cool enough for the sixth grade, or whatever. Adora thinks that’s dumb, because Adora has called her that since she was two when _Spinerella_ had too many syllables for her tiny mind to wrap itself around. She doesn’t say that, though. Besides, she knows she's supposed to be thankful she’ll take her and Catra trick-or-treating.

 

Adora makes sure Catra gets her Star Wars pillow case for candy, because the last time they slept over they watched _A New Hope_ and now it’s Catra’s favorite. There’s a red one that matches with her knight costume, anyway.

 

“So,” says Spinerella after a while. She’s the eldest kid trick-or-treating, and always manages to get the most candy, so she’s in charge. She plants herself across from Adora, who’s the bossiest and most likely to be stubborn ‘cause she knows a successful strategy will include her advice. She’s holding Netossa’s hand. Adora doesn’t meet her eyes – she spies Catra eyeing her from across the room, just out of the circle of Etheria Street children. “What’s the game plan to get the most candy?” Ella says, and her eyes flash dangerously.

 

Netossa has always been the strategist, but now she has the power – Spinerella – to back it up. Adora hums as Netossa launches into a complex route around the neighborhood. Occasionally Spinerella mentions whether or not a certain house gives more candy, or better candy, but usually Netossa already knows.

 

Catra just looks stressed by all this planning, face downcast and studying the hardwood floors, so eventually Adora decides to come stand next to her. Netossa pauses for a split second when Adora starts moving, expression shifting into surprise, then shrugs and continues talking. It’s the first time Adora hasn’t been involved and opinionated in the Halloween route, but Catra is more important.

 

Catra is rapidly becoming Adora’s first priority. She kind of likes it.

 

After about the fifth house, Catra leans over to Adora and takes her hand. Adora is worried for a moment that Catra is overwhelmed – because sometimes Catra doesn’t like noisy places or crowds – but then she says, “I’ve never done this before,” in a tiny voice and Adora blinks over at her. She doesn’t look anything but embarrassed.

 

“Never?” Adora is in disbelief. Halloween is super, very, incredibly important in her household. It’s Adora’s _favorite_ holiday. Her mama always makes her go big on house decorating. But Catra makes this face like she feels stupid for never trick-or-treating before, so Adora screws her face up to think and then says, “You have to do this with us every year to make up for it!”

 

It doesn’t quite make Catra smile the way Adora wants her to, but at least Catra doesn’t look so guilty. She tries to pull her hand away, but Adora gives it a squeeze and so they stay like that for the rest of the evening. It’s harder to get candy and Netossa is always hurrying them along, but Adora thinks it’s worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra gets out at two thirty, because she worked the extra fifteen minutes despite Scorpia’s protesting and then spends another fifteen minutes cleaning up. She calls Entrapta and gets the dial tone, texts her instead of leaving a scratchy message: _hey entrapta youre probably alseep sorry for calling you_. And then, _im not mad dont be worried_.

 

She thinks about going home and catching up on sleep. She thinks about just typing in the number and growing up and all that.

 

Instead she goes to the local 24-hour diner and orders a black cup of coffee. She's too tired to even add the sugar and hates herself for ordering it, ‘cause it’s still _hot_ and sticky out and stares at her phone, because she's not grown up and she's useless and she's pretty sure Adora doesn’t want to hear from her, anyway. She doesn’t want to be a bother, she reminds herself.

 

She opens up her battered copy of _The Great Gatsby,_ since she’d promised herself she’d read it a couple months ago. Her index finger traces the raw cut edges as she flips through the pages, trying to find her spot. She does this about once a week – sits in the familiar red booth and thumbs through a classic she’ll never finish and sips gross coffee.

 

Her phone pings when her coffee goes lukewarm enough for her insides not to feel sweaty when she drinks it. She folds over a corner of her book and glances down, stuck suddenly by surprise at how much she wants it to be Adora, even though she knows Adora doesn’t have her number. _sorry_ , says Entrapta. _are you still awake, was doing something_

 

 _yeah,_ she writes back. _gonna go sleep, probably_

 

_work tomorrow?_

 

She doesn’t answer that, motions for a waitress to pay the bill and leave.

 

(She doesn’t realize she's driving towards Adora’s house until she's halfway across town).

 

 

 

 

 

(december. 2001.)

 

The thing is – Adora’s not –

 

Once, Catra catches Octavia holding Adora in a wrestling pose. Adora’s arm is behind her back and her cheek is rubbing against the asphalt of the playground. It’s one of those spots the big kids go to play, where the teachers can’t see them, right behind the garden that one of the third grade teachers maintains with a science teacher. Catra had just disappeared for a moment to find her jacket, when –

 

Adora’s crying. Adora’s cheeks are starting to feel scraped and Octavia keeps saying things, like, “guppy” and “fat-face” and “pig” and she’s trying _really_ hard not to cry and she doesn’t know where Catra is and –

 

Adora doesn’t really remember what Catra does. Just remembers Octavia’s weight coming off of her and some shouting and sniffling and Catra saying, “I have a bandaid in my backpack” and holding her close. “It’s okay,” she adds, and Adora doesn’t say anything for a long time, just scrubs at her bruised cheek with her sleeve.

 

It’s the sort of thing she’ll remember for a long time, even though it’s Octavia who flinches at her when they lock eyes and not the other way around.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra pulls up to Adora’s house after deliberating for a moment. She slows through the ever-familiar Etheria street, cautious in the purple-black of light-polluted nighttime and hyperaware that her car is the only one rolling through the street. She can’t help but peek at the house, though, cranes her head to look out the window and watch it for what she tells herself will only be a few seconds.

 

Adora’s house is still lit; figures dance in front of the curtains of the living room. Catra’s knows the floral patterns even with her eyes closed – the swirling lavender roses appear unbidden under her eyelids when they slide shut with drowsiness. She pops her eyes back open. There’s a new car parked out front, cherry red. The license plate reads _SWFT WND._

 

For a moment something violent surges inside Catra and she thinks about kicking in its stupidly picturesque door and smashing with the dashboard in. The anger recedes, then, as quickly as it as it had crashed over her and she’s suddenly ashamed at the urge, at the spying on the house and looking for Adora in the window.

 

She presses her forehead against the wheel and hovers her foot over the gas pedal and takes one last look –

 

She sees her, though – blond ponytail bouncing in the kitchen, gesturing animatedly with her hands. There’s a boy following behind her, and Catra can’t exactly make out what they’re saying or doing, feels intrusive for trying to guess. She runs a hand down her face, suddenly reminded of the late hour. Weariness and something akin to deep longing makes her pause – she has to pull her arm up to the wheel with sudden force.

 

The lights flicker in the house, and Catra barely makes out shouting. She thinks of all the summers she spent in Adora’s room, of making Siberian dumplings with Mara. Of all the afternoons lounging at the pool. Of decorating each other with stickers. Of pretending to make dresses out of tulle lying around the house. Of sword fighting across furniture until they inevitably got in trouble. Of–

 

“Fuck,” she says aloud, shakes her head to clear the tiredness and longing both, and jabs at the car radio. Soft jazz starts to crackle in between radio static. “Fuck.”

 

And then she drives home.

 

 

 

 

 

(march. 2002.)

 

People _like_ Adora, sure. But she’s a lot – difficult and loud and annoying and chubby. Her classmates used to make fun of her all the time. She knows she’s supposed to come with a warning label, that she talks too much to her desk partners and gets sent out of the room too much. She has _potential,_ according to her teacher, but altogether too much _energy._ People like Adora, but no one really wants to be around her.

 

Except – Catra.

 

Adora takes a long time to realize that. Catra’s smart and always knows all the answers in class, always reading, always quiet. Scary, sometimes, too. But to Catra – to Catra, Adora isn’t a lot or doesn’t need a warning label or too overwhelming. To Catra, Adora’s _Adora_ and that’s enough.

 

Slowly, too, Adora starts to realize that Catra’s not just scary and quiet and smart. That’s when she pulls out her crayon and announces, loud over the hum off the classroom, “We should get married,” like it’s the most important thing, and pokes Catra until Catra looks up from her Magic Treehouse book, a little surprised.

 

“We’re too young,” says Catra indignantly. “My dad said–”

 

Adora scrunches up her nose and sticks out her lower lip.

 

Catra sighs, then, quick to defeat, and Adora’s grin is sloppy and takes up her entire face. “But what if we find boys, or something?” says Catra, quiet, even though she doesn’t really understand the appeal of marrying a _boy._ But Adora knows that Catra told her dad she wanted to marry Padme Amidala and her dad said she had to marry a boy.

 

“What about when we’re both, like, a thousand years old, if we don’t have anyone else to marry,” says Adora, and starts scribbling on the paper.

 

“You mean like, 21?” says Catra, a little bit tempted now, and Adora nods, waits until Catra agrees. “Huh,” says Catra, closing her book. That’s how Adora knows Catra’s already agreed, without having said anything, because that means she has Catra’s full attention. “That’s a good plan. That way we have to stay best friends, anyway.”

 

Adora looks at her with surprise. “Have to?” she repeats. “We’re gonna be best friends until we’re eighty, at least!”

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018).

 

Catra comes home late, really late. She has to fumble around for the key, because she tries not to wake up her dad, and she doesn’t want to turn on the light, but she trips over several things in the hallway. At least the floor is carpeted, she thinks.

 

She has a couple notifications from Entrapta, apologizing again, and one from Scorpia ( _i just saw adora? she's back in town?_ ) that she's been ignoring since she got it a couple hours ago. She considers scrolling through Twitter before going to sleep, or opening her book, something, but her eyes keep closing and before she knows it, she's curled around a pillow and she's dreaming of –

 

She snaps her eyes open before the dream ends. It hits her like a truck, the sunshine and the thick heat. Her box is still opened on the floor and the Game Boy is plugged into the wall, shut. She figures her dad must have seen it and drags her hands down her face under her vision is swimming with mauve dots. She groans, still groggy and headachy, and turns over.

 

The memory of her dream begins to fade into pale, dry hands and blue eyes and wisps of blonde hair, all not quite specific enough for Catra to have to admit it herself who she’s dreaming off. She tries to speed up the forgetting, but the name sticks to the inside of her cheek like it was super glued there.

 

Her phone pings – a horribly offensive noise – and lights up with a notification.

 

Catra takes that as time to wake up. She sits up slowly and realizes she's still in her work clothes. Her old horse toy (from when Adora loved horses and so Catra did too) is still sitting in the box when she looks back over, and she lets out a long breath through her nose. She realizes her hand is punching in a number before she can stop it, and her thumb hovers over the call button.

 

She doesn’t know what she would say, she reasons to herself.

 

(How about, _I dreamt about you last night_ or _I went through some old stuff and I wanted to see if this number still worked_ or _you know, I think we’re married_ ).

 

 _This is a terrible idea,_ she thinks.

 

She hits call anyway.


	2. i will love you if i see you every tuesday

(july. 2018.)

 

“Hey, sweetheart?” Mara appears in her pajamas at Adora’s bedroom door, where Bow is snoring softly on her bed. She’s holding out the landline and if Adora squints, she can make out the unicorn sticker on the side, partially hidden by Mara’s short purple nails. “There’s someone on the phone for you.”

 

“Uh,” says Adora eloquently, and rubs at her eyes. “Who?”

 

“Catrina?” says Mara, cautious, Catra’s full name thick with Mara’s familiar accent, and something in Adora’s stomach drops.

 

It’s just that – Adora struggles with finding a word – it’s just that – she thinks about all the times they held hands in the first grade under their desks, and the way Catra didn’t look her in the eye pretty much all of junior year, thinks about the halfmoon scar under Catra’s chin when Adora pushed her down a plastic slide and then the last time Catra pushed her, hard. She swallows.

 

They have a _history,_ Catra and Adora, and so when Adora looks at the phone–

 

(It’s not that it’s longing, it’s just–)

 

 

 

 

 

(january. 2003.)

 

Adora turns seven on the warmest day in January. She begs Mara to take her to the movies, same as always, and Mara suggests they bring Catra. Catra’s been spending more and more time at their house – Mara doesn’t explain why, exactly, but Adora gets the gist: something about moms, and work, and money. “Please,” says Adora, trying her best not to let her enthusiasm get the best of her, when Mara brings up Catra.

  
After all, Catra’s become Adora’s best _est_ friend. Adora’s starting to think it’s going to stick, too, even if they don’t have the same teacher next year.

 

They’re headed to the movies. There’s only one movie theater in town, and since Razz runs it, Mara only had to say a few words and they’re playing a horse movie. (When Adora was six and a half, she discovered horses on a class trip to a ranch. She’s obsessed. Adora has never loved anything more than she loves horses. She has _four_ horse posters in her room with phrases like, _“You got this!”_ and _“Stop horsing around!”_ that Mara helped her cut out from magazines). This morning she got horse pajamas as a birthday present. (She hasn’t changed out of them).

 

They pick up Catra first, who’s standing by the cornershop with a badly newspaper wrapped present for Adora. She clambers into the red car seat next to Adora and holds the gift up. Adora blinks. “That’s for me?” she says, pleased, and Catra gives her a toothy grin. “Look at my pants!” she adds, sticking her leg up. They’re orange and yellow. There’s _horse_ written in between the silhouettes of horses.

 

“Wow,” says Catra, looking properly impressed. “Can I touch them?” She holds her hand out gingerly.

 

“Did you buckle up?” calls Mara, from the front, and Catra yells back she has, then turns to Adora expectantly for an answer. Adora sometimes gets distracted by Catra’s different colored eyes. Catra’s the coolest person Adora knows.

 

“So, can I?” repeats Catra.

  
Adora nods her head almost violently, and Catra shoots her arm out, then gently strokes her thigh. “This is so soft,” Catra says, hushed. Adora smiles brilliantly. This is the best day ever. They’re going to see a horse movie, and then they’re going to the park, and Catra likes her pants, _and_ she has a present. Adora _loves_ her birthday.

 

“I love my birthday,” declares Adora.

 

“I know, sweetheart,” says Mara. “You’ve said that four times already.”

 

Catra leans over and grabs Adora’s hand. “Happy birthday,” she says, a little jealous. Adora watches her turn to look out the window before Adora can say _thanks!_ Catra’s other hand rests under her chin and she pauses, looking at the other girl a little searchingly. Mara turns a corner and the force of it makes Adora lean towards Catra.

 

“I got you something,” Adora says, finally, pulling out the two dollar bracelet she bought Catra last week from the dimes she fished out of couch cushions and found littering the sidewalk. It’s one of those bright pink ones with little rhinestone beads on an elastic string that pinches the skin a bit, but Catra looks over it and beams.

 

“But it’s your birthday,” she says, a little falteringly, like she knows she’s not supposed to get a present on Adora’s seventh birthday. Adora looks at her for a moment, shrugs.

 

“I got it for you before my birthday, though,” Adora finally tells her. “So it’s okay.”

 

Catra looks at it for a second longer, and Adora can tell she wants it but feels like she’s not allowed, so Adora pushes it out a little further and Catra takes a deep breath in and snatches it, like Adora’s going to change her mind. She puts it on gingerly, admires it against her brown skin. “I got you something, too,” says Catra, but then Adora holds up her hand.

 

“We have to have _cake_ first,” Adora responds very seriously. “Birthdays have an order, Catra.”

 

Catra gives her a long searching look that reads something like, _but we have, like, a movie to watch_ and Adora continues to look seriously at her. Catra’s never quite understood Adora’s birthday tradition, or genuine love of horses the way Catra pretends to. Catra sticks her tongue out and mimes an annoyed expression.

 

“Shut up,” says Adora, even though Catra hasn’t said anything, and they dissolve into giggles.

 

The whole day is like this – Mara takes them out to get burgers and Adora gets a chocolate milkshake the size of her head and drinks all of it, and Catra steals her french fries in between sips. Adora doesn’t stop talking about the horse in the movie – “Mama, _I_ want a horse,” she says wistfully, and Mara tells her that maybe one day she can have one. Plus, Adora spends the whole day with Catra and Catra holds her hand, even in public, which she sometimes gets shy about, ‘cause of her dad. Adora can’t stop smiling; she’s with her _mama_ and her _best friend_ and she saw _two whole horse movies_ one after another and was allowed to talk through them at the movie theater!

 

“You would make a very good knight,” Catra tells her seriously at the diner, because Catra has recently rediscovered knights and she thinks they’re so cool. Adora likes them, too, ‘cause she was a knight for three halloweens in a row, but she’s a little preoccupied by horses. Catra considers this: “You could have a magic horse,” she adds.

 

“Like a unicorn?” says Adora questioningly.

 

“Yeah,” Catra responds, face grave. “Like a unicorn.”

 

Mara watches them lapse into silence and continue to stuff their faces with a smile on her lips.

 

“When do you get to open your present?” says Catra eventually, slow, like she’s been thinking about it this whole time but isn’t sure if she’s allowed to ask.

  
Adora looks at Mara for a moment, then pauses. “Well, I guess we gotta eat the cake first, and then we can open presents,” she says, like she’s keeping Catra away from Catra’s presents and not her own. Catra nods, impatient, and shovels a couple more french fries into her mouth. “Gross,” says Adora, sounding impressed.

 

“I got you a good one,” says Catra, around another mouthful of fries. “You’re gonna like it.”

 

“Gross, close your mouth!” says Adora, a little more convincingly, and Catra leans over to give her a sloppy kiss, and then Adora’s facade breaks and she starts to smile so hard her lips start to hurt.

 

 

 

 

 

(june. 2005.)

 

“I’ll trade you for your shroomish,” says Catra, a couple years later. She’s brandishing her new cherry red Game Boy. The cord to connect the devices is curled up neatly at her feet.

 

“No way,” responds Adora. “You always stick them in a box a day later.”

 

Catra shrugs, stretches out on the wood of Adora’s bedroom floor. “Wanna battle?” she says, clicking at the buttons. She looks at Adora searchingly, as if for permission, then sits up to peer over at Adora’s screen. Adora obligingly shows her her party; all the pokemon have cutesy names. So do about half of Catra’s, though, because she lets Adora pick them out whenever they play together.

 

“You always win,” whines Adora, but she’s already moving for the cord, and Catra smiles, big.

 

 

 

 

 

(august. 2006.)

 

“Hey, Adora?”  
  
Adora rolls over to face Catra in her twin bed. They’re nine and ten now, a little tall for the bed but still fit if they slot together just right. The pink unicorn duvet rustles underneath her as she turns and regards Catra seriously, if not a little groggily. “Huh?” she says sleepily, voice low in a whisper. Catra’s breath is hot in her face, and she’s suddenly uncomfortably aware of the heat settling in her room, in spite of the whirring fan at their feet.

 

(She’d insisted that Catra sleep in her bed, despite how hot it was).

 

“Is Razz, like, your aunt?”

 

Adora squints at Catra, trying to figure out why she cares. “No,” she says, surprised. She remembers meeting Razz for the first time, when she was four or so, when Razz had those cool jeans with a star on the butt instead of pockets and earrings up her ear and a leather jacket and had a crisp American accent and kissed Mara briefly on the cheek before giving Adora a mint. “She’s my mom’s, uh.”

 

Adora doesn’t really know the name for Razz and Mara. She just vaguely remembers the fights her dad got into over the phone and an ugly word thrown around the room and the way Razz gives her piggybacks whenever Adora asks and tells her cryptic fairy tales that Mara always says are too scary. “She’s my mom’s,” repeats Adora lamely.

 

“But not related to her?” says Catra.

 

“You wouldn’t kiss your sister on the mouth,” responds Adora, her way of saying _no, definitely not,_ suddenly feeling defensive.

 

Neither of them know, to be fair, because neither of them have siblings. But Adora has the neighborhood kids that she hangs out with all the time and she wouldn’t kiss them, so. She can barely make out the furrowing of Catra’s brow in the light cast from the street lamps outside. “So she’s like, your mom’s...girlfriend?” It’s tentative, more of a _is that allowed_ than a confirmation.

 

Adora pauses to think about it. She looks at her dresser when she concentrates, looks for the horse stickers that she decorated it with after Catra gave her a whole book for her birthday. “Yeah,” she whispers after a while, counting the stickers plastered against her sock drawer. “Yeah.”

 

“Girlfriend,” says Catra quietly, like she’s saying it to herself, like it’s the first time she’s heard the word.

 

 

 

 

 

(december. 2006.)

 

Sometimes Adora and Catra sit out and watch the soccer girls’ games from the local high school. Mara knows the coach, and so she takes them one time and they just start doing it after that. Adora is ten when its importance hits her – she suddenly feels it, this certainty that _this_ is what she’s meant to do. The vision of an older, cooler Adora decked in maroon dances in her mind’s eye. “We need to make another contract,” she declares during one of the games.

 

Catra stirs next to her. Her eyes have been glued to the midfielder, who’s currently jumping up and down in her loose uniform. Catra’s got half the strategy stuff memorized; she’s always turning up with new tricks when they play one-on-one that she saw the older girls use. “Huh?” she says, and then looks over to Adora. Her eyes focus.

 

“We need to make another contract,” repeats Adora.

 

“I heard you,” says Catra, kicks at Adora’s shoe.

 

Adora nods, goes on undeterred, “So I think we need to make another contract,” and Catra opens her mouth, and Adora shushes her, continues, “‘cause we have to join the soccer team. In freshman year. We’re always watching them, you know, and I just think – I think we’d be really good. I think I could be a good goalie.”

 

“You’re a terrible goalie,” says Catra, and then, “I think I have some paper on me.”

 

She doesn’t say: _remember the last contract_ and _do you think we’ll really get married_ and hates herself for thinking it, swallows. Adora beams at her, moves in closer, tugs at Catra’s pink sweatshirt, and Catra can smell the new shampoo she uses, strawberry, and Adora says, “I said I could be,” a little indignant, and Catra rolls her eyes.

 

“You could be,” she amends.

 

 

 

 

 

(august. 2007.)

 

“School starts soon,” says Catra softly as they spread out at the local pool. Adora’s slathering sunscreen onto her impossibly pale legs. She’s been lording it over Catra for weeks now that she’s eleven and Catra’s still ten, even though they’re _both_ going into sixth grade next year. Summer break always makes Adora immature.

 

Adora wordlessly offers her the sunscreen despite what Catra had said last time when she had realized how high the SPF is: _“Russian,”_ complete with an eye roll. _(“I’m not technically Russian,” Adora had reminded her, taking back the sunscreen with a sniff)._ Catra turns her head to look over at Adora, whose hair is in a high ponytail, waves off the sunscreen and regards the other girl a little jealously. Adora’s still got baby face and pudge that Catra’s mostly grown out of, though, and so Catra thinks they each have an excuse to be jealous of each other. “I think you got _blonder_.”

 

Adora glances at Catra, hands white with sunscreen. Her nose crinkles when she laughs. “I thought you said that was impossible,” she says teasingly.

 

Catra stretches on her striped yellow towel and snorts. She tugs down her peach shorts a little more, reaches out her hand. “Whatever,” she says, watches as Adora laughs a little harder at that. Catra thinks that Adora might be getting little freckles on her cheeks and shoulders. “Draw something on me?”

 

Adora pauses thoughtfully, and squirts some sunscreen onto her left palm, dips her right index finger into it slowly, then tugs at Catra’s wrist. “I don’t know what to draw,” she says, as she lowers her finger and drags it down against the soft inside of Catra’s wrist. Adora’s always been very careful with this kind of thing – Catra pretends like she doesn’t secretly enjoy it.

 

There’s a moment where Adora stops moving and keeps looking down at Catra’s hand, and Catra thinks about all the ways she could ruin this moment: _what, you’re going to bite me?_ and _Sea Hawk’s giving you that look again_ (even if he isn’t).

 

“Done,” says Adora finally, soft, and lets go of Catra. Catra pulls her wrist close to her, eyes the tiny heart Adora’s slathered in sunscreen.

 

“This is the pale part of my arm,” complains Catra, and Adora rolls her eyes. “It’s not going to tan as nice!”

 

“What _ever,_ Catra,” says Adora, smiling. “School starts in a few days anyway. You can’t have a bunch of sunscreen tattoos when you’re in sixth grade.” And Catra knows that Adora doesn’t mean anything by it, laughs to show she knows that Adora doesn’t mean anything by it, but her stomach still flips in a shameful way anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

(november. 2007.)

 

“Hey, Adora, remember those horse stickers I got you for your eighth birthday?” says Catra on her own eleventh birthday, watches as Adora sticks out her legs on Catra’s handlebars instead of the road. Adora’s got these pink rubber flip flops she insists on wearing everywhere, even though it’s cold and Mara’s always worried she’ll get sick.

 

“Seventh, actually,” says Adora. “Can’t believe you don’t remember.”

 

“I remembered!” says Catra indignantly. “I want to open the present you got me.” She says it mostly to annoy Adora – Adora’s clutching it with one hand. The thing is wrapped poorly in bright yellow paper and with some duct tape even though Catra _told_ her already that that stuff is impossible to get off.

 

“You have to wait for cake,” says Adora.

 

“You’re so annoying,” responds Catra, but she’s smiling. And then, “Hey, Adora?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Don’t change, okay?”

 

 

 

 

 

(january. 2008.)

 

Adora changes – she invites half the grade to her twelfth birthday party and pierces her ears over winter break without Catra and everyone thinks she’s so cool, but whenever Catra gets worried Adora seems to materialize and promise, promise, promise, that they’re going to be best friends forever. Catra tells her once that she’s nervous about the change, and Adora responds by tucking her chin into the crevice between Catra’s shoulder and neck.

 

“You were so much cooler than me for so long,” whispers Adora into Catra’s plum t-shirt. “Everybody thought you were scary and tough and that I was dumb.”

 

“You’re not dumb,” says Catra instinctively. And then, “Well. You’re an idiot, but only to me,” and Adora snorts against Catra’s collarbone. Catra’s heart starts thumping at that, a little too furious for her liking. She tries to say _no one thinks you’re dumb_ or _I think you’re cool_ but they sound a little too much like lies.

 

“I just,” says Adora, soft. “I just like that everyone likes me now.”

 

And Catra? Catra has nothing to say to that. She holds Adora, quiet, certain this moment is somehow _important_ but not sure how. “Don’t try and replace me, though,” she murmurs, finally. “I’m it, you know. I knew you were cool before everyone one of those dummies knew, okay?” And then, because she knows Adora doesn’t speak Spanish, _“Soy tu mejor amiga,_ _¿_ _entiendes?”_

 

“I won’t,” says Adora. “I promise. I’m your – whatever you said, also, okay?” And it’s enough, for now.

 

When she gets home, and tells her dad, he’s quiet for a moment. “People change, _mija_ ,” he says, eventually. It doesn’t sound so comforting as resigned, almost a warning. “That’s how it goes.”

 

And Catra doesn’t know what he means, exactly, but she thinks of Adora’s _I promise_ and holds onto her words a little at length.

 

 

 

 

 

(october. 2009.)

 

Catra is almost thirteen when she starts disappearing on Mondays after school. It’s okay, ‘cause Adora’s joined, like, four different extracurriculars and has gotten a little busy and so she doesn’t notice when Catra tells her she can’t hang out and do homework the same night of the week.

 

“That’s okay, I have play practice,” says Adora once. Or another time, “I have track,” because the fall season isn’t over and Mara’s been pushing her to find a sport, even though Adora swears soccer is _it._

 

Adora had come back from summer _tall_ and tan. Razz had taken her and Mara out to Palm Springs, or something, and Catra preened by the poolside and in the local corner shop and even at home and pretended she wasn’t upset Adora didn’t take her along. “Hey, Adora,” she’d said when she saw her, tugging at a burgundy tank top, acting like she’s not bothered.

 

The thing is – the thing _is,_ Catra was never expecting Adora to tower over her. Adora’s always been _tiny_ and a little chubby, not so athletic but always determined. But this Adora comes back for eighth grade a golden girl, powering through puberty not so gangly and acne-covered the way Catra is, but full and bright and well-shaped.

 

She comes back not as the funny smart kid, but more motivated, too, and suddenly everyone stops talking about how Adora is _a lot_ and _talks too much_ and they talk about how cool she is, too.

 

Either way, it’s the tipping point, and so Catra follows the rainbow _GSA_ posters, the one club Adora hasn’t infiltrated yet, and starts attending. Because – Catra’s gay. Really gay. Absurdly gay, and a little bit in love with Adora in the way that everyone all of a sudden seems to be, and suddenly Catra is finding friends she wasn’t expecting.

 

First is Scorpia, who annoys her out of her mind. She’d been the one that had introduced her to everyone else, a couple other older kids whose names Catra doesn’t really know. She’s still trying to act like she’s above the whole GSA thing, still pretending like she’s just an ally. Either way, Scorpia is oblivious enough not to pick up on Catra’s annoyance and pretending, and she always gives Catra a high five in the hallway.

 

“Hey, Catra!” Scorpia says to her at lunch every day, raising up her hand and waiting for Catra’s high five. When Adora asks who that girl is, Catra has to swallow something bitter.

 

“We have math together,” says Catra, which _technically_ isn’t a lie – Scorpia’s started sitting next to her and drawing little pictures on Catra’s packets.

 

“Oh,” says Adora, sounding jealous.

 

“Are you free this Monday?” says Catra, pretending like she doesn’t notice Adora’s jealousy. They do a lot of pretending these days.

 

“Are you going trick-or-treating?” responds Adora.

 

“That’s not Monday.”

 

“I know.”

  
There’s a pause between them, where Catra isn’t sure what to say. A couple kids from the theatre table are waving at Adora, and for a moment Adora looks longingly over at them, before she moves to sit at the empty table she and Catra usually occupy. “You know,” says Catra slow, a little bitter, “you could always sit with them.”

 

It comes out like permission for something else.

 

She does come, though, on Monday – Catra’s not expecting her, so when Adora says, “Hey, Catra,” Catra startles.

 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” says Catra, soft, before she can help herself. “You have a geometry test tomorrow.” She’s been trying out being a little tougher, because Adora’s so busy with everyone else, so she squares her shoulders and says, “Not that I care,” even though Adora’s looking at her like _that_ and she can’t help but want to kiss her.

 

She hasn’t told Adora yet  – hasn’t told anyone, really, but the secret burns and she can’t stop thinking about it, especially – especially around Adora. She swallows it. _Thirteen is too young to be thinking that sort of thing_ , she tells herself. _Too dangerous._ Especially now, in the dark, surrounded by food and orange lit candles and marigolds and the chatter of people.

 

“I always come,” says Adora, easily, slides next to Catra to look at the _ofrenda_ and slips her arm into Catra’s. “I know you miss her.”

 

Catra knows, by now, it’s uncool to believe in ghosts and the dead and all that. Today is mostly a day reserved for Spanish class extra credit and sometimes seen as a knock-off Halloween, if anything at all. She knows that she’s not supposed to heave a big sigh and tell Adora, “It’s easier, though. Right now,” but she does, because it’s _Adora_ and Adora’s come to this every year since Catra invited her.

 

“What’s your mom saying this year?” says Adora, and Catra pushes her.

 

“That’s not how it works!” says Catra, and Adora laughs, and neither of them mention that Catra’s dad isn’t around this year, like he wasn’t around last year or the year before that. Catra can’t exactly remember the last time he came to the Day of the Dead. They’re both quiet for a moment, then, and Catra thinks about her dad and then looks at the picture of her mother, laughing and in a loose white shirt that used to remind Catra of a pirate.

 

“She’d be happy you’re here, though,” says Adora, plucking at a flower, and Catra thinks, _she’s happy I found someone like you_ but doesn’t say it aloud.

 

 

 

 

 

(august. 2010.)

 

Adora pushes her way to the front of the crowd, since she’s taller than Catra and a little stronger, anyway. She looks back for a moment – Catra’s on her toes – and then to the sheet in front of her, running her index finger down the names. _BRIGHT MOON HIGH J.V. SOCCER,_ it reads, all cap and in black print. She squints.

 

It takes her a moment to find what she’s looking for. There, at the end of the list: _A. ALEXIN,_ nice and official. She grins lopsidedly, pushes her hair back and tightens her ponytail, scans the list again. Her heart drops, then, even though she’s just made it on, even though she’s _finally_ in high school and on _the_ soccer them, because she can’t – she can’t find Catra’s name.

 

_Catra didn’t make the team._

 

 

 

 

 

(february. 2010.)

 

Catra’s not sure when, exactly, they move from their empty table to one with Adora’s new friends of the week. Catra sulks behind her, usually sticks her earbuds in and does her math homework and tunes everyone else out as Adora chats animatedly beside her. Once, only once, does Adora ask about it – “Hey, Catra?”

 

“Hm,” says Catra, lying on the floor beneath Adora. Catra’s history reading is stretched out in front of her, and the worksheet she’s supposed to be doing is mostly empty.  She looks up at Adora, who’s on her red-violet duvet and bent over some math homework. “Hey,” she says, “what year did World War One end?”

 

“1918,” responds Adora, not missing a beat. “How come you don’t talk to anyone at lunch?” This question comes out casual, like there isn’t something bothering Adora. But Catra’s always known what Adora means – even when Adora keeps talking and saying nothing, Catra knows what Adora means.

 

“I don’t know,” she says after a while. There’s no good answer that’s true, like, _I don’t like your friends_ or _I don’t like people_ or _I only like you._ She’s mostly gotten over her stupid crush from middle school – mostly – anyway, so Catra likes to think she lets herself be carted around by Adora because that’s what they _do._ They’re Catra-and-Adora. Always have been.

 

Adora shifts on her bed, puts down her math homework, and rolls over onto her stomach. She hits Catra lightly on the head with her pencil. “Seriously, though,” she says.

 

“What was the government set up in Germany?”

 

“Weimar Republic,” says Adora impatiently. “Come on, Catra.”

 

Catra turns to look at her. “I don’t _know,_ Adora, okay? I just–”

 

“You just what?”

 

Catra shrugs, turns back to her history homework. “What’s the difference between inflation and deflation?” she says instead, and flicks her own pencil against the used history textbook. _Boring,_ reads the margin, and Catra scratches behind her ear, turns over to look at Adora expectantly.

 

“Inflation is when, like, money is worth less and deflation is when money is worth more. That’s in the textbook, didn’t you read it?”

 

“No, I was listening to you ask me stupid questions.”

 

Adora makes an annoyed noise and flops over onto her back, regarding the ceiling of her room with distaste. Something bitter coils in Catra’s stomach, but she doesn’t bother to apologize. They’re silent for a moment, save for the scratching of Catra’s pencil as she writes down Adora’s answer.

 

“Catra,” whines Adora finally.

 

“I just don’t like them, okay? They annoy me,” says Catra, even though that’s not really true. “Plus, you go have new ones, like, every week.”

 

“Maybe if you introduced me to your other friends,” says Adora bitterly.

 

Catra looks at her for a long moment. _You’re straight,_ she thinks. _You wouldn’t like them._ She doesn’t say that, though, just waits until Adora turns over again and lowers her chin to meet Catra’s eyes. Her hair is almost white in the sunlight streaming in from her window. There’s a little scar on the left side of Adora’s upper lip, from when she bashed it too hard against the community pool. She’s in a lavender tank top.

 

“You never asked before,” says Catra finally.

 

Adora rolls her eyes. “Look, if you don’t like my friends, fine, okay. You don’t have to sit with me at lunch.”

 

“Fine,” says Catra.

 

She doesn’t – the next time Scorpia waves her over, she moves to sit next to her and the other GSA kids instead.

 

 

 

 

 

(march. 2010.)

 

Catra joins track and starts eating lunch with the robotics team and Adora joins varsity soccer and eats lunch with quiz bowl or theatre or the soccer team, depending on the day.

 

Sometimes Catra comes over to study, but she does even that less and less. And maybe it hurts, okay, when she sees Adora laughing with the soccer team, but she learns to swallow it anyhow.

 

 

 

 

 

(march. 2012.)

 

Catra comes out at the end of sophomore year, starts dating Scorpia. It’s not like Adora minds so much – Adora has two moms, okay, she’s not _homophobic,_ it’s just – when she passes them in the hallways, she always tenses and feels some ugly emotion in her stomach.

 

Sometimes Adora sees them after practice, ‘cause Scorpia’s on the team. Catra always eyes Adora when she slings her arm over Scorpia and presses a soft kiss into Scorpia’s cheek. “You stink,” says Catra, snapping at a purple bracelet Scorpia gave her, and Adora hates herself for wondering if Catra means Adora instead. She always clears the thought, though, smiles at the pair gently.

  
Mara asks Adora once in Russian what happened with Catra, and then again in English over dinner with Razz.

 

“I don’t know, Mama,” says Adora, soft, placing her hand under her chin.

 

“Elbows off the table,” says Mara, and Razz gives Adora a soft look.

 

Adora – not for the first time – tries to word it, tries to explain the soccer team and the fighting and everything, feels like it’s her fault without being able to pin down what, exactly, she did wrong. Razz catches her like this, places a calloused hand on Adora’s shoulder. “It’s okay, dearie,” she says. “People outgrow each other sometimes.”

 

“If people don’t love you for how you are,” adds Mara, voice thick, “then they don’t love you at all.”

 

Adora forces a smile, gets up a little abruptly. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, ignores the look Mara and Razz share as she brings her plate into the kitchen and scrubs it a little too violently.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2013.)

 

Catra wakes up on a lawn chair, summer heat thick and in an old, red bra and underwear. She blinks hazily, head thick and pounding. For a moment she’s confused, tries to wet her cracked lips and feels as if the inside of her mouth is too dry, and then she spots Adora, and even though it’s been years, she feels instantly calm.

  
Adora’s in a light blue bra and boyshorts, passed out on the concrete. “You’re going to get a sunburn,” says Catra suddenly, moving to wake Adora up. Adora stirs, runs a hand through her tangled blond hair. It looks a little greenish, like she’s been in chlorinated pools for too long. Her back is already rosy.

 

She sits up and looks at Catra, a little lost. “Fuck,” she says, and puts her head between her hands. “It’s too bright.”

 

Catra thinks about it for a moment – _where are they?_

 

The night comes back, then, in flashes. _Adora, plastered, in a tight tank top and a skirt. Catra remembers thinking that she hasn’t seen Adora in a short skirt in years. Adora holding a sloshing plastic cup, laughing. Adora pressing a cup into Catra’s hand, challenging her to something._

  
The memory starts playing, unbidden. It goes like this: _“Catra,” whines Adora. She’s wearing a sword pendant that falls right in the crevice of her chest and she’s somewhere between swaggering and swaying. Catra’s surprised to see her like this, plastered, flush with alcohol. She’d never thought this was Adora’s scene. “You never come to these sorts of things,” Adora says, and puts her arm around Catra, partially for support. “Have you had anything to drink?”_

 

_“I’m starting to regret coming,” says Catra._

 

_“You smell like flowers,” responds Adora, and exaggeratedly sniffs Catra’s hair._

 

_“I hate you,” says Catra, as Adora presses a drink into Catra’s hand._

 

_“No, you don’t.”_

 

Adora jolts, shakes her head as if to clear it. “What _happened_ ,” she says, and then seems to remember something before the question is halfway out of her mouth. Catra blinks down at her, waiting for an answer, but Adora doesn’t give one, just adopts a panicked expression. “Where are my clothes,” she says, quieter, a bit accusatory.

 

Catra gives her a blank look.

 

And then: _oh._ That memory is slow, too, to form, as if Catra’s mind is savoring it. _Adora’s legs between her own. Adora pressing her against the side of the pool. Catra’s arms wrapped around Adora’s neck, the quiet flirting and then the – and then the –_ “I don’t know,” says Catra hurriedly, trying not to think about Adora’s lips against her own, her lips against Adora’s neck.

 

Adora rubs her neck. She has a purpleing hickey there.

 

“You, uh,” says Catra, and points at Adora’s neck awkwardly.

 

“I, oh,” says Adora, hand tracing it gingerly. She stares at Catra with a renewed look of panic. “We, uh.”

 

“We did,” says Catra. And then, because Adora’s still looking at her, panicked, “We were drunk, though.”

 

Adora’s expression goes from still to searching to relieved. “We were drunk,” she says. “People do stupid things all the time drunk.” Catra nods, thinks _sometimes they dare each other to strip and jump into the pool_ and _sometimes they kiss a little too enthusiastically_ and _sometimes they pass out in someone else’s yard._

 

“Your clothes are on the deck, probably,” says Catra, rubbing her temples.

 

“Right,” says Adora, hand on her back. “Thanks.” There’s a pause. “Do you think I’m sunburnt?”

 

Catra sighs. “Probably,” she says.

 

Adora stills for a moment. “I’m not, uh,” she says after a while. At first Catra thinks she means sunburnt, but then – “I’m not – you know that, right? I’m not.” Catra stiffens, narrows her eyes. _She can’t even say the word._ “I, uh, please don’t tell anyone. I think it was after everyone – fell asleep, so uh.” She’s starting to ramble, gesturing with her hands.

 

“I won’t,” says Catra, getting up to pull on her blue t-shirt and jeans, but it comes out more bitter than intended.

 

 

 

 

 

(december. 2013.)

 

“Mama,” says Adora once, a little nervous. “Mama, I’m.” She thinks about Catra and her jealousy and the way, when she was younger, she would kiss Catra’s cheek, and the marriage contract hidden somewhere in Catra’s room, and the way her hands used to fit, it seemed, perfectly on Catra’s waist. “I’m,” she tries again, but the word gets swallowed.

 

She scrubs at her arm awkwardly for a moment and bites at her lip, hoping her mom will understand.

 

Mara looks at her seriously then, and Razz peers over her newspaper to look at her with an equally serious look. She turns down Razz’s weird ambient music to regard her for a moment. “I know, baby,” says Mara, finally, quiet. “I know.” And then, when Adora opens her mouth again to try and say it, she’s shushed.

 

“It’s okay,” says Mara, getting up to hug her daughter, and Adora thinks at least – _at least_ – she has the best mom she could have ever asked for.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2014.)

 

Adora only sees Catra once the summer before she leaves for college. She’s eighteen now, a little guilty ‘cause Catra’s birthday passed this year without Adora and Adora never quite grew out of caring for Catra. They’ve changed, of course – Adora’s grown, like, two feet and also started working out – but she still can’t help but linger outside Catra’s house when she bikes past it.

 

Anyways. She’s packing up some boxes and loading them into Mara’s car, cursing the sticky summer heat, and trying not to think about leaving town for so long. Droplets of sweat cling to the back of her neck and stray hairs from her ponytail are plastered against her back. She’s huffing slightly, itchy with the thick blue cotton band t-shirt she’s wearing for travel, digging her feet into the rubber part of the flip flop between her toes.

 

She stands back for a moment, eyeing the boxes she’s managed to stuff into her trunk, breathing heaving slow and the sun beating down on her cheeks. Adora hears Catra’s soft footsteps before she sees her, doesn’t turn around in case Catra’s just passing. “Hey, Adora,” says Catra then, and Adora startles like a horse touched unexpectedly.

 

“Catra,” she says, turning slow. It’s become an unfamiliar reality of treading softly between them, careful not to scare off the other. She wipes the beaded sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand, probably twisting the wet strands of hair framing her face. “Hey.”

 

Catra looks at her long and slow, and Adora knows her well enough to see something in the blue-gold eyes that she wants to chase. They regard each other for a moment, Adora still perspiring and Catra somehow unaffected by the heat, hand on her waist and watching Adora like she’s just puzzled something out.

 

“Um, you want any lemonade? My, um, mom made some a couple hours ago,” says Adora, finally, voice thick. She swallows suddenly, mouth dry, and heads towards the house because Catra doesn’t respond, just keeps looking and watching. She never quite figured out this version of Catra, soft and quiet and – _waiting._

 

Catra reaches out suddenly, pulls at the waistband of Adora’s polyester shorts. It pops back almost painfully, and Adora startles again, turns around to look at the girl behind her with an expectant expression. “You didn’t let me respond,” says Catra, slow like it’s a joke, her own voice scratchy.

 

Adora huffs a sigh, glances up at the clear blue sky and fixes Catra with a no-nonsense look. “That’s not a no,” she says finally, putting her hands on her waist and surprising herself with how they stick to the white shirt, clammy with sweat.

 

Catra doesn’t respond then, just walks up closer to her until Adora can see the beads of perspiration above her upper lip. “It’s not a no,” she agrees, close enough Adora could slot them together if she just angled her face down a little further. It’s uncomfortable, when the air is so thick it’s hard to breathe, and having Catra’s own hot breaths against her.

 

Adora takes a step back before she can help herself, and the air suddenly seems cooler with the lack of Catra’s body heat. “I, uh,” she says, quiet, and then Catra rolls her eyes, brushes past her and towards the concrete steps of Adora’s porch. “Okay,” says Adora, wiping her forehead again nervously, watching Catra bound up towards the door like she lives there. Adora supposes that maybe once she would have considered it Catra’s home as well.

 

The inside of the house is slightly better than outdoors – cooler, anyway, and Adora slumps against a cold hallway wall for a moment out of relief. Then Catra appears, moving like she’s the hostess, two plastic cups – navy and purple respectively – in hand. Ice sloshes inside, and she holds one out to Adora.

 

Adora takes it gratefully, squints at it to see that Catra’s put mint in hers with surprise. “You remembered,” she says before she can help herself, quiet.

 

“We stole mint from at least three neighbors every summer,” says Catra flippantly. “Of course I remembered.” Adora opens her mouth, and Catra shakes her head. “Don’t get weird with me about lemonade, Adora,” she adds, and takes a gulp of the drink, unladylike as ever. They used to pretend to be princesses, once, but Catra grew out of that two summers before Adora did.

 

“Good as you remember?” says Adora, chewing on a mint leaf.

 

Catra scowls, watching her, says, “that’s gross,” instead of answering. Mara used to make Catra her own pitcher, back when Catra lived at Adora’s over the summers. Adora remembers Catra, nine, swigging from it and pretending it was mead, remembers Catra, twelve, pouring it into the plastic water bottle she’d saved and telling Kyle it was pee.

 

Adora pops another mint leaf into her mouth as a response.

 

“Shut up,” says Catra, even though Adora hasn’t said anything, and Adora snorts. This is the way it’s always been with them – a tug-of-war between competition and compassion, fiercely gentle and mean all at the same time. Or used to be, anyway, back before Catra fell out of the practice of coming over to Adora’s house after school, during the summer, whenever.

 

Adora doesn’t like to think about that, though.

 

Instead, she focuses on Catra’s fake nails, long and black, that click against the side of the plastic cup. Catra watches the motion for a moment, tugs down on her crop top nervously. Adora has never minded the patch of stomach, remembers playing shirtless at five and changing in the same room at thirteen, but the motion draws her eyes to Catra’s tanned skin, to the ripple of the muscles underneath.

 

The air changes for a moment, hot and static even in the cool room, as Catra watches Adora’s stance change slightly and sees Adora’s adam’s apple bob. Adora’s suddenly aware of how revealing Catra’s outfit is – the low scoop of her violet top, revealing a strappy bralette underneath, the shortness of her black high waisteds.

 

Catra pauses for a moment, swirls her lemonade and looks at Adora seriously. Adora nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looks down at her baggy clothing and tattered flip flops and swallows. “I should get going,” says Catra, soft, and Adora thinks for a moment she hears the unwillingness in it.

 

“Uh, yeah,” says Adora. “I, um, have to pack.”

 

“College, right?” says Catra, almost wistfully.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Adora realizes suddenly she has no idea where Catra’s going, whether or not Catra’s going to get out of this town and disappear like she used to fantasize about, and her throat clogs suddenly with nostalgia. “Let me walk you out,” she says, suddenly desperate for a few more moments together, even though it’s been years since they were best friends.

 

“I should go,” says Catra, again, with a little more urgency behind it. Like she’s expecting Adora to say something.

 

Adora coughs, watches as Catra turns away from her and starts to walk out the door, watches as Catra’s shoulders slump like Adora’s failed whatever test set out for her. The door swings open, and a gust of humidity enters the hallway, and Adora looks up at the mezuzah Mara hung above the door, and then back at Catra, who’s still holding the cup.

 

“Wait,” she says, surprising herself, and jogs out into the heat. “Fuck, it’s hot,” she says as an afterthought, and then catches Catra’s wrist.

 

Catra looks surprised, and then briefly hopeful.

 

“You still have the cup,” blurts Adora, but she doesn’t let go of Catra’s wrist. For a moment it’s exhilarating, having an excuse to touch her again, and then she locks gazes with Catra. She pauses, suddenly hyperaware of her hand on Catra and the fact that they haven’t moved, as if unwilling to let go of one another.

 

“Oh,” says Catra, shaking out of the moment. “Here.”

 

And then she stuffs the cup into Adora’s hand and wriggles out of her grip and starts to walk, a little more purposeful than before, like she’d gotten what she came for.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Adora looks at the phone a little searchingly. Mara wiggles it. “Give it,” says Adora, finally, walking up and taking it gingerly, tracing the unicorn sticker under her thumb. By the time she’s tentatively lifting it up to her ear, she’s moving out of the hallway and into the tiny garden out back.

 

“Hello?” she says, and Catra on the other end, a little tinny, exhales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im planning to keep posting chapters regular, but if theres a bit of a gap between the next couple of chapters its cause im bad at planning and also writing in a timely manner...
> 
> as always, im figbian on tungle
> 
> update: now with art!


	3. i will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another

(july. 2018.)

 

“Hello?” Adora says, a little tinny on the other end, and Catra exhales.

 

In some version of all this, Catra and Adora are still attached at the waist. Somewhere, Catra didn’t give up on her schoolwork and made it to Columbia with Adora. Somewhere, Catra thinks, tracing the lines of her phone, this isn’t so hard. For some Catra somewhere out there, this phone call should feel as easy as breathing.

 

“Hey, Adora,” she says, a little slow. Her voice is raspy from sleep and dehydration. She clears her throat awkwardly, shifts from cross legged to pulling her knees to her chest.

 

“Uh, hi,” says Adora again. Her own voice is full of static. Catra imagines her swaying gently on the stoop out in the back garden, ‘cause Adora always used to take her phone calls out there. The silence is pressed with something unsaid, awkward. “It’s been a while,” Adora murmurs, then, low and quiet, and Catra’s stomach swoops.

 

“It has,” she says, trying to force something like _I don’t care_ into her tone and not being able to.

 

“So, um.” Adora’s expecting something.

 

“Can’t a girl call her friend who’s in town for the first time in a couple years?”

 

There’s a soft laugh on the other side of the phone. Catra snorts through her own insecurity and begins to tug at a hangnail on her left ring finger. “I _guess_ ,” says Adora, then. “I’m just surprised, is all. You haven’t called in – I haven’t heard from you in a while.” There’s something unspoken there.

 

“You never made an effort to reach out,” Catra sniffs. She almost says, _I found the old marriage contract._

 

“Oh, it’s my fault, then,” says Adora, but Catra can hear her laughter on the phone. And then, muffled, like she’s put her hand over the receiver, “No, it’s not Glimmer. She said she’s coming down in a couple weeks. Something about Angella?” Catra flushes as there’s a telltale rustling of Adora adjusting the phone. “Sorry,” says Adora.

 

 _It’s fine._ “Who was that?”

 

“My, uh, roommate, Bow?”

 

“So you’ve got an apartment in town or something?” says Catra, like she didn’t _just_ stalk Adora the other night. She tries to keep something knowing out of her tone, too. She can still see Adora’s silhouette in the kitchen, motioning with her arms. “I thought you wanted to get out of here, princess.”

 

“I, uh – no, he’s my college roommate.”

 

“Thought they were separated by gender,” retorts Catra, a little too quickly, a little too accusatory.

 

“Will you stop that?” says Adora, and before Catra can say _stop what_ in her bitchiest tone of voice, Adora adds, “Interrogating me, I mean. I lived off campus for my last year. I’m probably going back to the apartment in the fall, actually. There. Everything make sense?” The last bit is punctuated with a particularly aggressive _sense._

 

“Who’s Glitter?” says Catra, trying to sound unphased.

 

“This is why we aren’t friends anymore,” groans Adora, which – which stings.

 

Catra stutters, stops. “I can hang up,” she says, with more bite than intended, but Adora’s already talking again, saying something about _Columbia_ and _roommates_ and _best friends._ Catra closes her eyes and tunes Adora out for a moment, focuses on the lazy ceiling fan and the little strings she hung from it as a kid.

 

“Happy?” finishes Adora.

 

“I found that old contract,” says Catra, in response, finally having worked up the courage. “The marriage one.”

 

Adora pauses, hums. “Which one?”

 

Catra almost pulls the phone down and hangs up. “You don’t remember?” she says, incredulously. “Five year old Adora must have withered up and died somewhere.” She pauses, snorts. “Left her in a moving box in New York? Or just tie all your loose ends up in your diary?”

 

“Hey!” says Adora, not sounding particularly offended. “You promised you wouldn’t make fun of my diary.”

 

Catra shrugs, forgetting that Adora can’t see her. “You really don’t remember?” she repeats, softer.

 

“Maybe if you showed it to me?” says Adora, and Catra imagines her tracing the unicorn sticker placed there, worn thin by years under Adora’s thumb. “I heard from Entrapta about a really good bakery,” she adds, a little shier. Catra stills for a moment, silent, surprised by Adora’s sudden willingness to meet up.

 

“Asking me on a date, Alexin?”

 

She swears she can see Adora’s flush. “Shut up, Catra,” says Adora, and Catra smiles down at her own feet. “Just bring the damn contract. How’s three?”

 

“Eager, aren’t we?” says Catra, sugar sweet. And then, “I’m free. Don’t forget to wear white, love.”

 

“Shut up, Catra,” says Adora, and the line goes dead.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Bow’s looking at her curiously when Adora comes out of the garden, smiling a little too much. He has this expression that screams _about to interrogate Adora_ but instead slides next to her and says, “Did you take that test Glimmer texted in the groupchat?” Mara sets down a cup of tea at Adora’s usual seat and looks at her expectantly.

 

There’s a beat of silence that Adora knows she has to fill. She sighs.

 

“What, Mama? She just saw I was in town, that’s all,” says Adora, and then mouths _Catra_ to Bow when his brow furrows. She takes a seat at the dining room table and raps her fingers against the blue placemat. “I’ve taken it before, but I took it again and got a lion, again,” she says to Bow when he sits down across from her. “What did you get?”

 

“Still a mouse,” he says, sounding disappointed. “Our friendship is still so unrealistic.”

 

“At least I didn’t get an elephant,” says Adora, and then pauses. “Glimmer did _not_ get an elephant, did she?”

 

“She hasn’t responded,” replies Bow, and shrugs. He’s still in a his pajamas – a band t-shirt that he _definitely_ stole from Glimmer, because it’s a little too punk rock and not pop-y enough, and some heart boxers. “I’ll spam her in a little bit.” He takes a sip of his coffee – Adora notes with narrowed eyes that Mara gave _him_ coffee but still refuses to make Adora any – and then he dumps more sugar into it.

 

“Mama makes it strong,” says Adora, watching him pour an impossible amount of sugar into the drink.

 

“And how would you know that?” says Mara. “You’re not supposed to drink coffee!”

 

“Mama, I’m literally twenty two, please.”

 

“But you like tea!”

 

Adora slumps against her chair and sighs. “I mean–”

 

Mara gestures annoyedly at the kitchen, and then at Adora’s mug with a picture of the full moon printed on it, and then at Bow, as if he’ll understand. “My daughter comes home and I get her her favorite tea, and give her her favorite mug, and this is the thanks I get!” she says, and when Adora glances over at Bow embarrassedly, he looks like he’s about to choke from holding in his laughter.

 

“Okay, okay, sorry, Mama,” she mutters, and takes another gulp of her tea.

 

There’s a short pause. Her phone chimes.

 

 **glims** ✨✨(10:10 am): _badger???? still????? what did u all get!_

 

Bow types out their respective quiz results and says, “Anyways,” still looking very amused, “have you checked your horoscope?” His phone dings again and he pauses, checks it, and adds, “Also, when is Glimmer coming down to visit us?” Mara hands him a plate of buttered toast, at which Adora has to fight herself from cracking up – everyone else is eating sausages and toast. Even Razz’s place is served a sausage, despite the fact Adora hasn’t seen Razz once this morning. Bow looks down at the plate and the toast, grimaces, and forces a mock-cheerful bite.

 

“Uh,” says Adora around a sausage. “No, please read it to me, and today, I think. Angella got called in for some dean stuff so her family bonding thing is over early.” When she looks down at her own phone, there’s a message from Glimmer that reads: _ughhh i miss u guyzzzz_

 

 _get to socal faster!!!!_ she writes. _my mom is bullying bow for being a vegetarian_

 

 **glims** ✨✨(10:13 am): _omg tell mara i love her_

 **b 💖w** (10:14 am): _i hate u both_

 

“Stop texting at the table,” says Mara, right before Adora can write a really funny reply. “I know you’re just texting each other.” She manages to sound so tired, bemused, and annoyed all at once that Adora snorts and puts her phone face-down on the table. Bow mirrors Adora quickly, looking a little guilty.

 

“Mama, where’s Razz?”

 

“Still asleep,” says Mara. And then, “Bow, what is my horoscope?” She pronounces ‘horoscope’ carefully, as if worried she’s going to say it wrong.

 

“Uh,” says Bow. “You’re a Leo, right?” He makes a motion for his phone and Mara sighs and nods. “Uh, ‘The past few weeks have not always been easy, but there is light at the end of the tunnel and not long after the sun moves into your sign. During the weekend your outlook will improve dramatically. Get ready to reach out to the world again.’”

 

Adora loves Bow’s reading voice – clear and bright. “What’s mine?” she says, even though she doesn’t believe in that kind of stuff, just likes hearing Bow talk.

 

Bow smiles. “I like this one,” he says. “Even though I don’t like this website all that much. Here: ‘Who knew you could be so charming? It seems you know exactly what words to use to win others round to your way of thinking. Now try using your powers of persuasion for a good cause – there are plenty out there if you care to look.’”

 

“Mine doesn’t make sense,” comments Mara.

 

Adora snorts. “It never does, Mama,” she says, and laughs at Bow’s affronted look.

 

He’s about to reply when Razz appears in the doorway and cuts him off. “Good morning, darling,” says Razz, voice rough with sleep, and presses a kiss to Mara’s head. Bow gets this starry look, the way he does anytime Razz and Mara are domestic, because _“Adora, your moms are so cute”_ as he told her once, back in sophomore year.

 

“Hey, Razz,” says Adora. “Good morning.” And then, jokingly, “What do you think about astrology?”

 

“Been trying to get your mom to believe in it for last decade, dearie,” responds Razz, and Bow makes this noise between a triumphant _a-ha!_ and laughter. Adora opens her mouth in surprise, then closes it.

 

“What _ever,_ ” she says. “Listen, Bow, I’m meeting up with Catra at three, do you want me to drop you off anywhere? Glimmer should be in at seven or so.”

 

Razz starts talking before Bow even has a chance to say anything. “I promised you I’d take you to my knitting circle,” says Razz, mostly to Mara more than anyone else. Razz always directs everything at Mara, whether or not it’s about her. “It starts at around two thirty,” she adds. “We’re done by four.”

 

“Huh,” says Bow. “I _do_ want to learn how to knit.”

 

“‘Cause you told Castaspella that you can,” teases Adora, and he shushes her violently.

 

“Shut up, Adora,” he says.

 

“You shut up,” she responds.

 

“Language, Adora,” says Mara.

 

Adora splutters. She almost says, _he started it!_ and then really considers where that would get her. “Whatever,” she says under her breath, though there’s no bite to it, and she laughs when Bow sticks his tongue out at her.

 

 

 

 

 

(september. 2014.)

 

Catra gets to campus with Scorpia in tow, tugging her purple suitcase behind her. “You’re gonna love it here,” says Scorpia, and Catra stops herself from pointing out that Scorpia hasn’t even spent a day attending college yet to know whether or not Catra really will love it. She sighs instead, and bobs her head. “You will,” insists Scorpia.

 

“Whatever,” says Catra. She pauses to watch the stream of incoming freshmen walk, almost in circles, parents flanking them and maps in hand.

 

“Come on, Catra. This is a really good school.”

 

Catra blinks at her. _It’s not Columbia._ She turns away and mumbles, “I promised my roommate I’d head up early to meet her.”

 

She suddenly gets a pang of some sort of longing. When they were kids, she and Adora used to fantasize about being roommates together at the same college. They’d take all the same classes. Adora used to say they could pretend that they were related, before Catra told her that was stupid.

 

Her phone chimes.

 

 ** _new roommate_** (10:13 AM): I am in our room. It is on the North side of campus.

 

“Right,” says Scorpia, a little disappointed. “Can I meet up with you later?”

 

Catra shrugs. “I guess.” She doesn’t owe anyone anything, anymore, so she pulls at her suitcase and lugs it across campus, leaving Scorpia behind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(september. 2014.)

 

Adora gets onto the Columbia campus with a map in one hand, a blue suitcase in the other, and two very anxious mothers on her tail. “What’s your room number again?” asks Razz for the third time as they’re climbing up the stairs towards Adora’s dorm, and Mara smacks her on the arm. “I’m just asking, Mar,” says Razz, laughing, and then adds, “Did you bring that bracelet I got you?”

 

Adora sighs and lifts her arm up. “I’m wearing it,” she says, and the little gem to ward off the evil eye twinkles.

 

“Show us where to go,” says Mara, clearly faring no better than Razz in the anxiety department. She’s been stressed since they arrived in New York, and even though nothing has gone wrong, she looks like she’s barely keeping everything together. She touches Adora’s arm carefully, and Adora does her best to smile.

 

The thing is, Adora’s nervous herself. She’s super far away from home. She hasn’t had a close friend since – well, since Catra, and she’s never really taken the time to consider what college would be like without Catra around, sneering at her and making her stomach swoop. Plus, she’s three hours ahead from her moms, which means that she can’t call them whenever she wants. “You will Skype us every day, yes?” says Mara, a little impatiently.

 

“Mama,” says Adora, exasperated. She turns around to look at her mother, not breaking pace. “Every week?”

 

Mara scowls. “Careful, you’ll bump into someone,” she responds curtly.

 

“No I–” and, because Razz’s charm doesn’t work, she runs smack into a short girl with a pink and purple bob. “Oh my god,” she says, watching the girl’s papers and books go flying, “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, let me help–” she bends down to grab at a notebook, and the girl looks over at her, impatient.

 

“You should really watch your step,” she says.

 

“Sorry!” says Adora again.

 

The girl rolls her eyes, and gets an elbowing from her mother. “It’s okay,” she says finally, and thankfully looks like she means it. She holds out a hand, which has short, unpainted nails. There’s something about her standoffish demeanor that’s recognizable to Adora, though Adora can’t place exactly where… “I’m Glimmer. And you are?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra’s – nervous. That’s the only way to describe it. She’s impossibly nervous. Scorpia comes by a couple hours after the phone call, and Catra’s hands are still rapping against whatever surface they can find, subsequent beat rapid and arhythmic. “Catra,” says Scorpia, smooth. “What happened?”

 

“Shut up,” responds Catra instinctually. Her fingers are tapping her thigh. Scorpia snorts, rolls her eyes. She’s got on heavy make up again today, bright red eyeshadow with some iridescent lipstick. Catra takes note of it silently, pretending to judge it. The truth is that Scorpia looks good in that kind of getup, over the top and flamboyant. She says, “You look like you’re going clubbing,” instead. She checks her wrist as if there’s a watch there. “It’s, like, eleven.”

 

Scorpia wraps her into a big hug and laughs a booming laugh. “I thought you’d like it,” she says, mushing her cheek into Catra’s hair.

 

“Please don’t get any foundation on the top of my head,” says Catra, muffled into the crushed velvet of Scorpia’s frankly low-cut top.

 

“No promises.”

 

“I hate this family,” says Catra, and pretends she’s not smiling.

 

“What family?” says someone in the doorway. Scorpia loosens her grip in surprise, allowing Catra to wriggle out of it like someone might escape cuffs from a Medieval dungeon. When she does so, she looks over to the entrance of her house and realizes that Entrapta’s there, standing directly in the middle of the frame as if she measured exactly where to place herself.

 

“Us,” says Scorpia, beaming, as Catra says, faux-grave, “I have no family to speak of.”

 

Entrapta smiles too, then notices Catra’s fingers pounding out something on her side and frowns. “My hands get that way, too,” she says, and Catra’s about to open her mouth and tell her it’s not the same, when she produces a rubber band. “If you want, you can borrow this. Helps keep the hands busy.”

 

Catra looks at her warily, then back at the rubber band. She snatches it primly and begins to twirl it in her fingers. “Whatever,” she says, receiving a look from Scorpia that’s not admonishment – Scorpia doesn’t have that in her – but closer to disappointment. She sighs. “Thanks, Entrapta,” she says, monotone.

 

Entrapta isn’t bothered. “You’re welcome,” she says brightly.

 

“So, Catra,” says Scorpia. “You going to tell us why…” she trails off, pointing at Catra’s fingers, which are now winding the rubber band between them.

 

“No,” says Catra.

 

Entrapta looks between them questioningly.

 

“She’s nervous,” explains Scorpia, easily. “Or something like that.”

 

“Why are you all at my house?” says Catra, frowning, and Scorpia gives her another look that’s more hurt than anything else. She sighs and tries again. “I just wasn’t expecting you all, that’s all.” And then, because she’s feeling a little anxious – sue her, okay – she adds, “Sheesh. I’ve known you guys for years and I’ve never been nice.”

 

Entrapta shrugs. “You’ve been nice,” she counters.

 

Catra fixes her with a stare.

 

“You were nice to me when no one else on campus was,” says Entrapta, matter-of-fact. Catra flinches a bit at that. She wasn’t _nice,_ per se, but – she hadn’t been mean, either. Just...difficult. But Catra’s always been difficult. She supposes that’s part of the deal of being her friend.

 

“Scorpia was,” she says.

 

Scorpia lights up at that. “That was nice!”

 

Catra flushes at that. “I hate this family,” she mutters.

 

“Anyways,” says Scorpia. “I came by because I – we – were worried about you. You were acting – weird last night.”

 

Catra closes her eyes and tries to come up with an excuse. “Sorry. Just packing up old boxes. My dad wants to donate some stuff,” she says, surprising herself a little at how easily the reasoning comes, and it’s not a lie, not exactly. Catra’s learned that the best lies are lies by omission.

 

“Oh,” says Scorpia. And then Entrapta adds, “Your mom?”

 

The unexpectedness of it, the bluntness of it, makes Catra screw her mouth up. “I–” she says, and stops. “I haven’t gotten to my mom’s boxes yet,” she says, a little quiet, and then wonders why she’s telling the truth. She straightens suddenly, smiles as brightly as she can – though Catra’s smiles have always been a bit feral – and adds, “Anyway, my dad won’t make me deal with those boxes if I – can’t.” _He certainly can’t,_ she thinks, but doesn’t say it herself.

 

“Oh,” says Scorpia. “Do you want a–”

 

“No,” says Catra quickly. “No hugs.” She rubs at her eyes fiercely, to prove that there’s nothing wrong with them, and to wipe any tears accumulated from the _dust_ in the house. She’s surprised, then, when Entrapta takes a step forward and puts a hand on Catra’s shoulder. Entrapta doesn’t like touching people, usually, and so Catra stills immediately.

 

“It’s hard,” says Entrapta quietly, and then says nothing more. Catra remembers, then, that Entrapta’s lost one of her parents, too. Before Catra can say anything, though, Entrapta steps back and beams.

 

“Right,” says Scorpia, a little shaken.

 

“Right,” echoes Catra mockingly.

 

Everyone seems to calm down at that. Catra being mean to them is so ordinary that instead of looking offended, Scorpia snorts.

 

“So,” says Scorpia, and looks at Catra’s fingers.

 

Catra rolls her eyes. “You guys are literally so nosy,” she says, prim, and stuffs her hand in her front pocket which – well, considering she’s in short shorts and she bought them in the women’s section, goes about how you’d expect. She gets up to the second joints on her fingers before she hits the bottom. It does not have the dramatic effect it’s supposed to.

 

“Well?” says Scorpia.

 

“Asshole,” counters Catra.

 

“Language,” says Entrapta, which – really? That’s Scorpia’s tagline, Catra’s about to say, but Scorpia and Entrapta have matching looks of curiosity, so she pulls her hand out of her pocket to run both hands down her face.

 

“I hate you both,” she says, vaguely aware this is the third time she’s told them she hates them today. “I’m meeting Adora at three.”

 

They both blink at her. “At three?” says Scorpia.

 

“Is Adora…?” says Entrapta, careful. She knows from past experience to be cautious about what she asks regarding the Adora subject. This has something to do with a screaming fit and several overturned books in their dorm room. Catra has since made everyone involved never to speak of it again. (To be fair, this wasn’t really an Adora-related outburst. It just so happened Adora was brought up at the wrong time).

 

Catra briefly considers whether or not this counts as speaking of the aforementioned incident, with a capital i. She decides it does not, and says, shortly, “Yes. We were–” and stops herself. “I was–”

 

“It’s complicated,” says Scorpia, for her.

 

Entrapta nods, not looking satisfied but still a little sheepish.

 

“God, it was because of _finals_ and _sleep deprivation_ ,” snaps Catra. “You can ask your fucking question.”

 

“Language.” This time, it’s Scorpia who said it.

 

“I can’t believe my best friends are a bunch of eighty year olds with their underwear in a twist.”

 

“We’re your best friends?” asks Scorpia, gleeful.

 

Catra lets out a long-suffering sigh and puts her head into her arms. “Yes, obviously,” she says, and then looks over to Entrapta. “We were best friends growing up. We...grew apart. I was...probably in love with her, for a long time.” She hasn’t ever said that aloud. She swallows.

 

“Oh.” It’s Scorpia who says this, hushed.

 

Entrapta says, “You’re planning to make amends?”

 

“No,” says Catra, suddenly exhausted. She pulls out a piece of paper, clearly folded neatly after being crumpled and runs her thumb over it. “I’m going to show her the marriage contract we wrote when we were, like, five.”

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Adora’s running late; Razz had taken a lot time to get out of the house because she wanted to give Bow some bracelet she got for him at the alternative pharmacy in town. They drop her off at the bakery flushed and a little panicked. She’s pretty sure half her hair is falling out of her ponytail. She’s not sure why she wants to look good for Catra.

 

Either way, she ducks into the bathroom to press down her hair and wash at her cheeks a little half-heartedly before she starts looking for Catra. When she steps out of the bathroom, though, it’s easy to find her — Catra’s cheek is being cupped by her hand as she looks out the window, and for a moment Adora’s struck by the peacefulness of it, like a Renaissance painting.

 

The shop’s busy, of course, with a short line to order out front. There’s seating and some flower pots to her right, across from which a chalkboard sign of coffee drinks hangs above a cash register. She has a moment of indecision – go order or sit down – before a waiter passes her.

 

“Do you need help, ma’am?” he says.

 

“Oh, me?” Adora responds, and then shakes her head. “Um, no, I’m sitting over there.”

 

She takes a deep breath and walks forward briskly towards Catra. Catra startles before she can even reach out her hand to tap her on the shoulder and her blue-gold eyes settle on Adora. “You’re late,” she says, eventually, a little annoyed. She turns to look at the window and adds, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

 

“Well, I came,” says Adora a little awkwardly. She adds in jazz hands. It doesn’t make it any less weird.

 

Catra looks up at her and snorts, visibly repressing commenting on the innuendo. Adora flushes and inwardly facepalms. There’s a short silence as Catra opens her mouth but doesn’t say anything, while Adora shifts from foot to foot. “Not going to to sit down, then?” Catra finally says dryly. “Going to look at the contract and bolt? You’re a terrible wife, Adora, I must say.”

 

“I’m not–”

 

Catra rolls her eyes. “I’m just joking, Adora, I know you’re straight.”

 

“I’m – I’m sorry,” says Adora, sliding into the chair opposite Catra to check whether or not Catra’s serious. “I’m _what_?”

 

Catra blinks at her owlishly. “Straight?” she repeats.

 

“I’m–” Adora swallows. “Catra, I’m – you know I’m gay, right?”

 

Catra straightens out of a slouch in surprise. She’s suddenly still, with that calculating look she used to get when they were kids and they were watching the soccer games, like she’s reevaluating something. Adora fiddles with a blue sugar packet awkwardly, feeling the granules between her forefinger and thumb through the packaging.

 

Adora thinks, for a moment, that Catra’s going to yell at her. She’s got this particularly wounded air about her. And then, blasé, “You didn’t tell me,” she sniffs. Adora squeezes particularly hard at the paper packet. “I was–” Catra swallows, facade cracking a little bit, and suddenly Adora remembers walking in on a GSA meeting and finding Catra back in high school. Adora’s known about Catra for years. Adora pulls at the packet with a bit more force as a wave of guilt washes over her.

 

“Look, I’m–I’m sorry,” she says, ripping at the edges nervously.

 

Catra relaxes as suddenly as she’d straightened, rolls her eyes, the hurt disappearing as quickly as it appeared. “Should have known a heterosexual would never have written a marriage contract to her female best friend,” she mutters, and pulls out a neatly folded square of construction paper. Adora watches as she carefully unfolds it, smoothing out the creases with her thumb, careful. “Here.”

 

_i, carta, will mari adora wen we are 21 if we arent both marid_

 

“Man, your spelling sucks,” says Adora, quiet. Her name is in pink crayon. There’s the telltale sign of young Adora’s handiwork in the tiny horses and the phone number at the bottom.

 

Catra blinks. “It’s yours,” she says, coughs. “The handwriting.”

 

“I–oh,” says Adora. “I don’t remember this.” She smiles and traces her name with a finger. “Man, I was really in love with you, huh?”

 

“Jesus Christ, Adora, you can’t just _say_ that.” When Adora glances up, Catra’s blushing.

 

Adora flushes too. “Well, I was,” she says, a little defensively. There’s another beat that goes on too long, where Adora looks down and tries not to focus on Catra and wills – really, really forcefully – that a waiter comes up to their table and asks them for their order. At that thought, she pulls out a menu and starts to scan it.

 

No waiter comes up to them. She peers down at the menu with more fervor.  “What’s good?” she asks eventually.

 

“Very subtle subject change,” responds Catra.

 

“Well, do you have anything else to say?” shoots back Adora.

 

Catra rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says, and then pulls out another menu from the box that a few are held upright in. “Entrapta likes the mini muffins, but I usually just get a matcha latte.” Adora looks over at her, surprised by the familiarity of Catra’s tone – warm, affectionate, even. She doesn’t remember Catra ever sounding like that back in high school.

 

“Huh,” says Adora. “Well, I already had some caffeine today, so.”

 

Catra snorts. “Mara still on your case about that?”

 

“How do you remember–”

 

“I used to sneak you coffee, Adora, of course I remember.”

 

When she looks over to Catra, she’s blushing again, and fiddling with a sugar packet of her own. “Soo,” she begins to say, opting for another conversation change, but a waiter materializes and smiles down at the menus in their hands. He’s tall and god the twenty-twelve hipster mustache, but it’s a surprisingly good look for him. His name tag reads _Solomon._

 

“I see your friend has joined you,” he says to Catra, a little sing-song. Adora narrows her eyes. She feels like she recognizes him, but she just can’t place where she knew him from. “You ladies have any drink orders for me, or do you need some more time?” He looks over to Adora expectantly, like he’s confident he knows what Catra wants.

 

“Um, could I try a slice of your apple pie?” says Adora, looking down at her menu.

 

“No drink?” he asks, and Adora colors. _Whoops._

 

“Sorry, I, um–”

 

He pauses. “Adora?” She blinks at him, but he barrels onwards. “Wow, it has just been so long! How have you been? Obviously you and Catra are friends again – good, that’s how the world should be.” Here he clutches his chest and looks over to Catra. “Matcha, right?” he adds.

 

“Shut up, Sea Hawk,” says Catra, annoyed, and then, “Yeah, the usual.”

 

 _Sea Hawk._ Adora’s eyes refocus. The Sea Hawk she had a two month fling when she was thirteen or so, Sea Hawk. Adora does her best not to squeeze her eyes shut at the thought of that. The Sea Hawk she came out to as a lesbian a couple years later. “Oh my God, Sea Hawk!” she says brightly – if somewhat forced and certainly strained. “Wow! It _has_ been forever, how have _you_ been? Where did you end up going to school, and all that?” And then, because Catra’s glaring at her in the way she used to, she adds, “You see Catra all the time, huh?”

 

Sea Hawk smiles equally brightly, though notably genuine. “She comes here all the time with Scorpia and Entrapta,” he says, and elbows Catra, completely missing her souring expression – or ignoring it. “I ended up at UCSD, you know, ocean stuff.” He laughs. “Columbia, right?”

 

Adora’s surprised for a moment, then looks down at her sweatshirt, which conveniently has the Columbia emblem on it. “Uh, yeah,” she says, laughing awkwardly. “It’s good, but hard,” she adds, shrugging. “I heard about you and Mermista…?”

 

“Yeah!” For a moment he’s beaming so widely that Adora actually squirms in her seat. His eyes even mist. And then he comes back to the real world, where he says, “And you? Got yourself a girlfriend?” which makes Catra’s scowl even darker. He notices, and perks up. “Oh! You and Catra…?”

 

“No, no,” says Adora quickly. “I’m not – we’re not–”

 

“Ah,” he responds, a little deterred. “You’ll, um, find someone.” There’s a short silence in which no one says anything. “Well, uh, good catching up with you.” He points his thumb behind him. “Let me go process your orders!”

 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Catra makes a retching noise and reaches over to wack Adora. “Always the social butterfly,” she says, rolling her eyes. She thankfully doesn’t say anything about _exes on good terms_ or _wow, everyone knew you were gay except for me, huh._ “You really just can’t help it, can you?”

 

“Shut up, Catra,” says Adora. “I can totally help it. I’m just being _nice_.”

 

“Huh, never heard of it.”

 

“You’re so annoying.”

 

“ _You’re_ so annoying.”

 

“Agh!” Adora throws her hands up. “Shut up, it’s like arguing with a twelve-year-old!”

 

Catra pauses suddenly, and so does Adora, shocked into silence by the sudden familiarity. They haven’t been friends since they were, like, fourteen. They haven’t talked in years, and all of a sudden Adora _does_ feel twelve, hanging out by the local pool and drawing shapes into Catra’s skin with sunscreen. “Man,” says Adora, suddenly quiet, “I guess I’ve really missed this.”

 

Catra eyes widen suddenly. “You’ve _what_?”

 

“I mean,” explains Adora, “We were friends for so long, and all that. Don’t you–” she swallows, “–don’t you miss me, too?”

 

“You can’t miss someone sitting right across from you,” responds Catra, and Adora can’t help but disagree.

 

She looks at Catra expectantly, and Catra lets out a long breath. “Fine, fine,” she says. “You’ve always been my favorite ghost, skeleton in the closet, whatever.” Adora frowns over at her, and Catra shrugs, evidently unwilling to say anything else. Catra gives her another look that punctuates this, a look that says _stop asking for more_ and Adora, folding her hands neatly, does as she’s told.

 

“Do you remember,” says Adora quietly, “the time you broke your wrist?”

 

“Fractured it, actually.”

 

“Whatever. Same thing.”

 

Catra pauses to watch Adora curiously. “Why?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. I was just thinking about it. You were so mad at me.”

 

Catra snorts. The memory plays, almost unbidden, in Adora’s mind’s eye – biking with Catra, racing her. Stopping at the concrete bank of the nearby river and the way Catra hadn’t stopped so well, had tumbled downward when Adora couldn’t catch her. “You were so freaked out,” says Catra, smiling, not taking the bait. “You thought I was gonna die.”

 

“I was _twelve_.”

 

“You were so dumb at twelve.”

  
“Whatever.”

 

Catra’s eyes soften at her, and once again the familiarity of this rushes back to her. She sighs. “All I was saying,” she says, “is that we should, I don’t know, hang out sometime. Again.”

 

“You gonna make another contract, princess?”

 

“Hey! I don’t even remember the first one!” But Adora’s already fishing out her nice gel pen and tearing out a piece of paper from her notebook, taking Catra’s jab as an excuse to actually write one. “How did I even _know_ the law jargon when I was five, anyway? Should I draw in the margins like the last one? I don’t have any crayons–”

 

“Christ, Adora, you’re taking this so seriously,” responds Catra, snatching the paper and holding out her hand for the pen. “Fortunately,” she adds, puffing out her chest a little bit, “You have a lawyer on your side, and I know for a _fact_ that little doodles are not professional. Just the sort of things you pick up when you’re going to law school.”

 

“You definitely haven’t gone to law school.”

 

“ _Going,_ Adora, check your ears.”  
  
There’s a beat of silence. And then, cheerily – if not a little jealously, “Oh! Congrats! You made it out in three years?”

 

Catra shrugs. “I got stuck with the smartest and most annoying roommate. Figured I’d take advantage of it all.” She begins to write something out in her messy handwriting on the document, and Adora’s struck by how blasé Catra’s being, like graduating in three years and getting into _law school_ isn’t a huge deal.

 

Catra pokes her head up. “I know you want to ask, Adora, go on. You can ask?”

 

Adora smiles. “What school?”

 

Catra’s about to answer when Sea Hawk appears again. “A matcha for the lady in orange,” he says, “and some pie for the lady in a college sweatshirt.” He places down their respective orders in front of them, and Adora peaks over at Catra’s drink. Catra traces Adora’s gaze and sighs.

 

“Sea Hawk, can you get us a hazelnut latte? Adora’s going to drink my tea otherwise.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Come on, I know you want some coffee, and Scorpia loves their coffee things.”

 

Adora rolls her eyes. “Okay, maybe I do. I love my mom, but–”

 

Catra laughs, again, and looks up expectantly at Sea Hawk, who’s writing it down. There’s a pause where he looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t, and instead winks at the two of them before disappearing. “What a nutjob,” says Catra. “He and Mermista _finally_ got together last year, you know?”

 

“Catra,” whines Adora. “What school?”

 

Catra’s smile is a part secretive and part deeply impressed with herself. “Guess,” she says, flippantly.

 

“Columbia.”  
  
“Ew, no, gross,” says Catra, to which Adora holds up her hand to her chest. “No, I may or may not have gotten into Harvard.” She smiles, a little toothy. “They have really good international connections,” she adds, and Adora blinks at her in total surprise. Even _Adora_ hadn’t gotten into Harvard.

 

“Wow,” says Adora. She supposes undergrad isn’t the same thing as grad school.

 

Catra just shrugs, then pushes the finished contract at Adora expectantly. “You sign in the three places indicated.” She takes a sip of her tea, obviously repressing a smirk.

 

_I, _______________, promise to hang out with Catrina de León at least twice per week during the month of July as an attempt to rekindle their past friendship. I promise to be kind to her and to bring her over for dinner at least once during the month, as well as to never make fun–_

 

“Hey!” says Adora, “I can’t promise that!”

 

“Really?” says Catra, wilting, “‘cause I really missed Mara’s cooking.”

 

“No, I meant–” Adora lets out a breathy laugh, and then takes the pen. “I’m not going to stop making fun of you.”

 

Catra makes a mock-offended face. “You really _don’t_ want to be my friend!” She pulls the contract back and sighs, crossing out a couple lines about _no teasing_ and _no reminiscing_ , which she replaces with something about giving Catra lots of Mara’s lemonade. Adora takes a bite of her pie as she reads through the edited piece of paper.

 

“Fine,” she says, and prints her name neatly at the top. Catra smiles at her, then, real and genuine, but cautious, too. She watches as Catra takes the contract gingerly, the way she used to when they were kids, and a stray piece of hair tucked behind Catra’s ear falls over her face.

 

Something quiet happens to her heart then, and it’s not like it’s longing, it’s just–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall! unfortunately im a Slow Writer, so the next update might be in a week and a half (so like, next wednesday)! just a heads up! i also realized this fic might need a sixth chapter so uhhh stay tuned to see whether or not it does


	4. i will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory

(july. 2018.)

 

Adora doesn’t call. At first, Catra thinks it’s because her roommates are at her house and she’s busy – but then two days become three, and three become four, and Catra’s mood sours. “I should have known,” she tells Entrapta grumpily, because Entrapta’s the sort of person who lets you go on and on, provided you extend the courtesy to her. _Especially_ if you extend the courtesy to her. “I mean, she didn’t even remember–”

 

“You should call her,” interrupts Entrapta, not looking up from her computer. “Scorpia says communication is key.”

 

“I don’t care what Scorpia says. Scorpia says a lot of things.” Catra drums her nails on her side, frustrated. “I shouldn’t even bother with girls like Adora.” Entrapta shoots her a concerned look, but Catra barrels on. “If she’s going to say things without follow-up, fine. It’s fine.”

 

“It is?”

 

“No, it isn’t, obviously, shut up, Entrapta.” And then, because she feels guilty, “Sorry. I just–” _Adora’s just–_

 

Her phone chimes. _ru comin 2 work 2day?_ 😻💖💖😻😻 _-s_ , it reads. Catra sighs. “How many times have we told her not to sign her texts?” she asks, and quickly adds, “rhetorical, don’t actually count how many times.” Entrapta, who had frozen when she’d asked the question, relaxes and bobs her head in understanding, continuing to type on her laptop.

 

😻😻 **kitty cat** 😻😻 **(5:35 PM)** : ya but my shift isn’t until 7

 **scorpia** (5:34 PM): oh! 😄ok! 💖💖-s

 

“I don’t know,” continues Catra. “I just thought she really wanted to reconnect. Maybe she just felt like she had to. Maybe I just made everything up.” _Maybe,_ a tiny voice inside her head whispers, _you should get over Adora. If you’re not worth her time, how is she worth yours?_ “Not that I care, anyway. Whatever.”

 

Entrapta hums in agreement. “I’d like to talk about my code now.”

 

Catra frowns and checks her phone again, just in case. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

Entrapta launches into a confusing, jargon-heavy speech, which loses Catra in the first thirty seconds. Catra makes a valiant effort to keep up, regardless – what’s fair is fair, after all – but finds herself lost in her own thoughts and occasionally making noises of affirmation. Her head spins. She never should have offered to show Adora the contract. She never should have even called her.

 

Her phone buzzes again and Entrapta stops talking to look at Catra. “It’s Scorpia,” Entrapta says, even though it should be a question.

 

“Yeah,” confirms Catra, checking it. “She wants me to come to work early.”

 

Entrapta frowns. “Did you think the code was interesting?”

 

Catra shrugs and goes for honesty. “I didn’t understand much of it,” she says. She bites back a _don’t be such a bore, Entrapta_ and, because Scorpia’s been really on her ass about being nicer, adds, “I thought the concept was cool. Making archeological sites 3D and accessible through the internet.” She pauses. “That’s what it was, right?”

 

Entrapta nods. “You should go,” she says.

 

“I should go,” repeats Catra a little dejectedly. “Ugh.”

 

“Ugh,” echoes Entrapta absentmindedly.

 

Catra stands and looks halfheartedly around for her car keys, patting her pockets as she does so. She pauses then, and looks over to Entrapta. “Are you going to like, stay here? While I’m at work?” _In my room?_ She doesn’t add (though she very well could), _you do already show up unannounced, so._

 

Entrapta doesn’t seem to get the hint. To be fair, she rarely does. “Mhm,” she says, which means that unless Catra snaps in her face (she knows not to touch Entrapta by now), she’s not going to respond. Catra sighs, mutters an _alright_ to herself under her breath, locates her car keys, and shoots one last baleful look at Entrapta in hopes that maybe this time she’s been heard and understood.

 

Entrapta doesn’t look up. Catra decides to stop hoping for things that won’t happen and shuts the door behind her quietly.

 

Scorpia’s frowning at her slightly when she gets to work, but Catra shushes her with a, “I came, didn’t I?” and doesn’t let her say anything else. She knows she’s still got her purple utility jacket over her polo, but what _ever_ , she also came to work _early_ for Scorpia, so. Catra’s pretty much absolved from that much hard work.

 

Scorpia drifts over occasionally as the night progresses, shooting concerned looks over at Catra. Catra assumes this is because Entrapta texted her, because Entrapta’s a _snitch,_ or mostly because Entrapta texts Scorpia any time there’s an emotional conflict. If Catra were a maturer person, she’d allow it, since she does it herself.

 

Regardless. Scorpia keeps drifting, and it’s really getting on Catra’s nerves.

 

Customers come in and out. People keep asking how her night’s going, which is energy-consuming and annoying each time. The reason Catra takes the late-night shift is because it’s just sleep-deprived zombies and eclectic groceries that are generally embarrassing enough to deter eye contact. And Scorpia starts hovering.

 

Maybe it’s a test. Maybe Scorpia wants to make Catra a manager.

 

Catra hates tests.

 

Eventually the night crawls on. The amount of customers slows. Catra has time to text Entrapta, _are u still at my house_ (to which she gets no response) and to check every social media she has to see if Adora’s contacted her on anything. She even checks email. Catra _never_ checks her email.

 

 _Whatever,_ she thinks, at ten thirty. _It doesn’t matter. I don’t care._

 

Time goes by achingly slowly. She spends her breaks on her phone, or reading the paperback she found in the backseat of the car. Scorpia talks to her a little halfheartedly, which turns into asking Catra is she’s alright every hour or so, to which Catra responds with either “Yeah, I’m fine” or “I’m not interested in the feelings game today, Scorpia” and goes back to her book.

 

Ten becomes eleven, which becomes twelve, which becomes one.

 

Sometime around one fifteen or so, it gets noisy. Two or three customers arrive, loudly bickering. She can hear a high-pitched voice say, “Come _on,_ we were here yesterday, and she wasn’t here. You know I support you…” the voice trails off, and Catra, bleary eyed, shoots the customer as covert a glare as possible. _Shut up,_ she wills them.

 

They have a pink and purple bob, and they’re short, and _God,_ their voice _really_ carries. There’s someone standing next to them, but Catra can’t see them without being obvious. Another, deeper voice responds, “No, it’s _important._ Friendship is important!” and the pink-haired one scowls.

 

“So is sleeping! And friendship is important when it’s reciprocated!”

 

Catra sighs. She hates when annoying customers are right.

 

“We made a contract,” a third voice argues, and Catra swivels so quickly she almost loses balance. “That’s reciprocation.” It sounds like – _Adora?_ The pink one sighs. Catra narrows her eyes and tries to casually look for the third person, the maybe-Adora. “Look, I’ll just ask around to see if she’s here, okay? And then you can sleep.”

 

“ _Fine._  But I want to get some chocolate,” says Pink Hair. “Or snacks.”

 

“There’s plenty of snacks at home,” says the second voice.

 

“You sound like a mom,” replies maybe-Adora. Actually, the more Catra listens, the more she thinks it’s Adora. “Look, I’ll just–”

 

Maybe-Adora freezes, and then so does Catra.

 

The trio has just turned a corner, and now Catra’s face to face with them. “Adora?” says Catra, unable to mask the shock from her voice, because it _is_ Adora, hair up and smiling with those unmistakable blue eyes. And then, because the other two friends are shifting into protective positions, Catra adds snarkily, “What, you’re stalking me now?”

 

“She–”

 

“You–”

 

Adora stops both of them. “Go get some chocolate,” she says quietly. And then, to Catra, “You didn’t call.”

 

Catra frowns. “Neither did you.”

 

“Al _right_ , _”_ says the boy in a crop top, tugging at the shorter girl. “Glimmer and I are gonna, uh. Go.”

 

Adora gives them a forced, closed mouth smile and watches them go before she turns to Catra again. “It was in the contract that we’d hang out once a week!” she says, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. Catra stares at it blanky. She _knows_ what was in the contract. She wrote it.

 

“That _you’d_ hang out with _me_ ,” she responds. And then, looking at her nails in a classic _I don’t care_ pose, “and you didn’t call.”

 

“Catra,” when Catra pokes her head up, Adora’s smiling softly, “are you _mad_ at me?”

 

Embarrassment rushes over Catra. “No,” she says quickly, and then, “yes,” gritted out. “I just thought,” she clears her throat, “I just thought.”

 

Whatever remnant of annoyance left in Adora’s expression softens, and then she begins to laugh, clutching her gut and doubled over. Catra freezes, and then feels another spike of red hot anger. “Right,” she snaps, “if you’re here to make fun of me and not buy anything, I think it’s best if you leave.”

 

Adora pauses at that, wiping at her eyes and sighing exaggeratedly, “I’m not making fun of you,” she says, still giggling a little.

 

Catra raises an eyebrow.

 

“Okay, well, I am, it’s just that – well, I’ve been to this fucking grocery store _every day_ at like one in the morning to find you, ‘cause I don’t have your phone number.” Adora blushes for a moment, and crosses her arms as she shifts her weight from foot to foot. “I would have called if I could.”

 

Catra blinks at her slowly. “Oh,” she says, remembering now that Adora doesn’t even have her new home phone. “Oh.” Wow, she feels stupid. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

 

Adora frowns. “I don’t go back on promises,” she says.

 

Catra opens her mouth to say something horrible, and then closes it before she does. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Scorpia echoes, _she’s trying to make amends, you know,_ and watching Adora, in lumpy red sports clothes and with bags under her eyes, watch Catra with a sort of bittersweet carefulness, she opts instead to say, “Oh.” And then, “you only have one more day to hang out with me.”

 

“Shut up,” says Adora, rolling her eyes, and then tension dissipates. “I’m – you’re – _impossible._ ” Catra smiles at that, shrugs in a _what can you do_ sort of way. She’s expecting Adora to mention something like the movies, but instead she gets, “We’re going to go to the beach tomorrow, since Glimmer’s aunt has a place down there. If you wanna–”

 

“Because Glitter would love that.”

 

“You don’t even know her!”

 

“I saw the look she gave me,” retorts Catra. “She doesn’t _want_ me to know her.”

  
  
Adora narrows her eyes. “She said I could invite you.”

 

“Oh, look at that, saintly Glitter.”

  
  
“For the last time, it’s _Glimmer_ !” She huffs. “Why are you being so _difficult_?”

 

Catra pauses and considers the question for a moment, then lifts her shoulders up in a halfhearted shrug. “Package deal, I guess,” she says. Adora gives her another look. Catra seems to be getting a lot of those from Adora, always asking for more. She chews on her lip for a moment before giving in. “Fine. I _guess_ I’ll come, if you’re so adamant about it. Stalker.”

 

Adora huffs and pulls out her phone, clearly satisfied with Catra’s answer. “I still don’t have your number.” And then, to Catra’s surprise, she adds, “And that’s no name to call your wife.”

 

 

 

 

 

(august. 2007.)

 

“What do you think kissing’s like?”

 

Catra’s head snaps up from her book so fast Adora startles. “What?”

 

They’re in Catra’s room, for once, with the fan whirring obnoxiously and uselessly in the background. Adora’s feet are propped up against Catra’s bed with her back against the floor, and she’s playing on Catra’s GameBoy, trying to beat the elite four. (“I told you you couldn’t do it, even with my team!

 

“Shut up Catra, I can do it!”)

 

“Kissing,” repeats Adora.

 

Catra frowns. She shifts her position closer to Adora, shoulders touching, to watch the GameBoy’s screen. Her Blaziken is bobbing up and down to the quiet electronic music. “Why?” she says, and then, “Stop using his fire attack, use the fighting one, ‘cause this pokemon is a normal type, right?”

 

“I don’t know,” says Adora. “Boys can be so – _immature,_ you know?” And then, when Blaziken takes out the opposing pokemon, “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Catra mulls over the unspoken question for a moment. “Well, you do have two moms.”

 

“I _guess_ ,” says Adora. “But it’s different. Than even, I don’t know, everyone else’s parents.”

  
  
Catra’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Everyone on the block except Adora and Catra have a mom and dad. There’s silence between the two of them as she considers what’s been said and Adora lets her, clicking away to the faint music designated for battles. “Ugh,” Adora says, as the defeat noise plays. “I feel like I don’t know your pokemon at all. Like, I beat it the second time around with _my_ team.”

 

“The fifth time around,” Catra corrects. There’s a beat before she adds, “Yeah, you’re right.”

 

“About pokemon?”

 

“About it being different.”

 

Adora sighs, nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Different.”

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra shows up late to the address Adora had texted her. Adora almost thinks she’s not coming at all, but by the time they’ve ordered a pizza and Castaspella has been given four or five excuses as to why no one (except Bow, of _course_ ) packed any of her knitted gifts, the doorbell rings.

 

“I’ll get it,” says Adora. “Probably pizza.”

 

“You ordered a salad, right?” calls Bow from behind her, which makes Glimmer laugh and shove him. As Adora moves to the door, she swears she hears Glimmer calling him a health nut, and smiles. “Adora!” he says, when she doesn’t respond, and then there’s some commotion, and Adora leaves the room as quickly as possible. She’s _pretty_ sure they ordered a salad.

 

When she opens the door, instead of the delivery guy, she’s met with a mass of frizzy hair, a pair of differently colored eyes, and an all-knowing smirk. She’s carrying two cardboard boxes and a styrofoam one. “I heard you ordered pizza, princess,” says Catra, looking far too smug for Adora to handle.

 

“You’re late,” says Adora, feeling her cheeks heat for no reason.

 

Catra shrugs. “I’m here, though, aren’t I?” There’s some straps peeking out of her t-shirt. Adora imagines Catra in a bathing suit for a moment and gulps.

 

“You _are_ here,” she echoes, somewhat lamely. She mentally adds, _that cannot be denied._

 

Catra rolls her eyes and pushes past Adora, readjusting the backpack on her shoulder with one hand while balancing the boxes on the others. “Great talk,” she says sarcastically, as Adora rushes to make sure nothing falls. “I hope you got enough for me.” She swings her arm up, holding everything above Adora’s reach.

 

“If you drop it–”

 

They turn the corner and meet Glimmer and Bow’s equally surprised and amused expressions. “Didn’t think you’d come,” says Glimmer, shooting Adora a _really_ look as Catra lays down the boxes on the table. She gives Catra an unimpressed stare, one that Adora had been on the receiving end of _many_ times in freshman year.

 

Catra barely looks bothered. “Had to sort out transportation,” she responds, shrugging. “What’re you gonna do about it? Not all of us live in beach houses and have best friends doting on them, you know.”

 

“I wouldn’t have invited you if you’re going to behave this way,” shoots back Glimmer, eyes narrowing. “You could have texted.”

 

“Glimmer,” says Bow desperately, as Adora says, at the same time, “Catra,” in the same tone of voice.

 

They both turn to give Bow and Adora respective annoyed looks. Catra frowns and says, “You’re right. Sorry.” Her expression is a little pained, and her tone is monotone. She’s watching Adora as she says it. Adora responds by turning her expectant gaze to Glimmer. Glimmer sighs.

 

“I’m sorry too,” offers Glimmer, and opens a box. “I’m just hungry.”

 

Catra rolls her eyes, but takes a slice anyway. “Nice to meet you, pink,” she says, and Adora snorts.

 

“This is going to be fun,” says Bow, but he looks a little nervous.

 

Adora fixes Catra with another look. “Yes,” she says, the command in her voice clear, “it will.”

 

“Right,” says Catra, locking eyes with Adora. Adora’s stomach flips again as Catra angles her head up in an almost aggressive way, one eyebrow raised. She’s got three piercings in her right ear. Adora hadn’t noticed that before. Hadn’t noticed the way Catra still chews her lips when she’s concentrating, either. Catra appears to be waiting for something.

 

Adora tears her eyes away instead of trying to figure it out. “Huh,” says Adora quickly, feeling her cheeks heat and not knowing why. “Good pizza.”

 

Catra looks disappointed for a split-second before she smiles and relaxes. “Yeah,” she says, voice raspy and quiet.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra sits down next to Adora with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Adora’s got her eyes trained on the ocean, and if Catra concentrates, she can hear Adora’s breathing align with the waves. “Hey, Adora,” she says, brushing her shoulder against the other girl’s, settling onto the cushions.

 

Glimmer and Bow are in the kitchen, baking. Adora startles for a moment, then refocuses. She’s in a soft green t-shirt that says their high school’s name on it. “Hey,” she responds softly. And then, after a pause. “I’m sorry.”

 

Catra blinks at her. “For what?”

 

She feels Adora take a deep breath, lifting her shoulders. Her gaze doesn’t break away from the surf. “I just–” Adora pauses, and squeezes her eyes shut, and Catra admires Adora’s all-American profile, even though Adora’s barely American. Her hair is squeezed through the back of her baseball cap and into a perfect, blonde ponytail. “I feel like I dragged you out here.”

 

“You remember your bat mitzvah?” says Catra instead of answering her.

 

That makes Adora tear her eyes from the shoreline to face Catra, surprised. “Yeah,” she says, almost in a laugh. “I was so worried I’d drop the torah.” She lights up. “I remember that Sea Hawk ate too much candy afterwards and threw up in the bathroom, too.” There’s another pause, as Adora smiles momentarily at the memory, then shrugs her way back into the present. “Why?”

 

“You said the same thing,” says Catra, pausing to sip her hot chocolate. “‘I feel like I dragged you here.’” She snorts. _Like she wouldn’t have sat through the whole ceremony four times over if Adora had asked her, back in those days._

 

“You didn’t respond then, either,” says Adora quietly.

 

Catra bats at her shoulder playfully. “You didn’t drag me,” she says, unsure of when exactly she’s referring to, and before she realizes what’s coming out of her mouth – “I would have followed you, anyway.”

 

 

 

 

 

(march. 2002.)

 

When Catra and Adora are six, they go through a brief period of playing mermaids. Catra grumbles quite a lot about it, but later on she starts to insist that they each make up a respective merman boyfriend, because that’s what her dad told her to do, and her dad’s always right. And because Adora loves Catra, she does as she’s told.

 

Once, though, Adora says, “I hate making up boyfriends.”

 

Catra stills from the overturned basket she’s using as a sunning rock. “It’s not stupid,” says Adora quickly, giggling a little to show Catra it’s okay. “I just think the making up boyfriend sucks. Let’s just – pretend to be each other’s boyfriend.”

 

“Do you _want_ to be a merman?” says Catra a little incredulously.

 

“No,” says Adora, drawing it out.

 

“Well, I don’t wanna be a merman.”

 

“Oh,” says Adora.

 

“Let’s just keep doing it the same, Adora.” There’s something unspoken there. Catra doesn’t need to voice it for Adora to hear it.

 

Adora quiets for a moment, mulling it over. “Okay,” she says cheerfully, and Catra smiles and continues to pretend to sunbathe as they go over their overcomplicated plotline, including an aquarium rescue and sword fighting and getting legs to find treasure. Later, though, Adora thinks about it – _not allowed,_ she says to herself that night.

 

She doesn’t forget that, either. _Not allowed._

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra moves after a little while, mumbling something about finding a book and reading. Adora doesn’t hear her. Catra’s words repeat themselves in her head, like a mantra: _I would have followed you anyway._ _I would have followed you anyway. I would have–_ She stills and tries to count the amount of years they were best friends, and then how many they weren’t, gets stuck on high school and the nuances through deliberation.

 

When do you stop being friends with someone, anyway? Glimmer had asked her the same thing, once, after Adora got teary drunk and stalked Catra on facebook. She wasn’t sure of the answer. After you stop sitting next to them at lunch? Once they stop drinking your mom’s lemonade?

 

“Hey, Adora,” says Glimmer after a while, opening the door to the patio and sticking her head out. “Bow wants to go swimming.”

 

Catra appears a second later. “This is a terrible idea.”

 

“He was a lifeguard in high school,” argues Glimmer. “And so was Adora!”

 

“Adora was a dumbass in high school, though.”

 

Adora frowns. “Wow, thanks,” she says.

 

Catra shrugs, clearly nonchalant about the insult. “All I’m saying, is that you’re clearly a much cooler college student. Bow says you party, or whatever. No quiz bowl, either.” Adora flushes. She’d forgotten about quiz bowl. There’s a beat of silence in which Bow and Glimmer shift awkwardly. Catra sighs. “Adora, your favorite subject was history.”

 

“It still is,” says Adora.

 

“Yeah, but you might become a _doctor_. That’s cool.”

 

“Or an occupational therapist,” chimes in Glimmer.

 

Bow claps his hands together. “Enough of that. Let’s go swimming!”

 

Adora nods. “Yeah, come on!” She shoots a look at Catra, who frowns. Whatever. Adora really does want to swim, actually. She and Glimmer planned this trip a while ago, anyway. “I’m going to go change,” she says, making a motion towards the house. “If you need to borrow anything…?”

 

“No, I’m good,” says Catra, sighing. “I’ll come swim.”

 

Adora beams at her. “So you don’t need anything?”

 

“No, I brought something.”

 

A short ten minutes later, Adora’s got her arms full of towels, pacing on the deck. She’s in a red sports bra and swim shorts, which are a little big and hang a little low on her hips. Bow’s in red shorts, too, but they’re the shorter ones that he got in Paris last year when he went travelling with his dads.

 

Glimmer appears from the doorway in her purple one piece, and Adora nods appreciatively. “I knew it would look good,” she says, recalling the barrage pictures of the online model she’d had to suffer through back in December. Glimmer always gets antsy for summertime about halfway through winter.

 

“You look good, too,” responds Glimmer easily, and Adora tosses a towel at her.

 

“The shorts are too big,” she says shyly.

 

“Well, they’re nice on you.”

 

Bow nods enthusiastically.

 

“Where’s Catra?” asks Adora, looking around for a moment.

 

“Over here.” When Adora spins, she’s struck, suddenly, by an emotion she’s certain she hasn’t felt since she was fourteen – mouth dry, cheeks coloring. The thing is – the thing is – Adora recalls all the summers they spent by the poolside, looking without looking and admiring without admiring. All it takes to make Adora feel young and naive is Catra like that, hair in a braid down her back, shorts still on with a strappy black bikini top.

 

Adora must be staring really obviously, because Catra clears her throat, also blushing. She tugs at her shorts and her eyes skim over Adora’s swimsuit before looking back up to Adora’s face. Her blush darkens. “I’ll take the shorts off when we get to the beach. I just didn’t want to get cold.”

 

The air is sticky and warm. Glimmer raises an eyebrow.

 

“What _ever,_ ” says Catra. “Race you.”

 

Adora stuffs the towels at Bow and takes off. “Not fair!” she hears behind her, and laughs, kicking up sand as she speeds up.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra’s feet get wet first – or at least _she_ thinks so, anyway. Adora argues very passionately against her. “Oh, shut up,” yells Glimmer eventually, and so they quiet down, and Catra begins to wade further out. She’s not really a water person, and her hair can be _so_ difficult, but she’s grown up going to the beach.

 

It’s not like she’s also trying not to stare at Adora. Or Adora’s abs, specifically. Because – Catra’s forgotten this – Adora is _buff._ Shredded, whatever. And in her swimsuit, it’s a painful reminder of what Catra used to–

 

“Catra, _wave_!”

 

Catra blinks back into reality and dives into the underbelly of the wave as it crashes behind her. The water is bitingly cold, though once she’s under it’s not so bad at all. She counts slowly to three, and then resurfaces, scrubbing the saltwater out of her eyes and scanning the water for Adora.

 

Adora’s only a couple feet ahead of her, hair still dry. She must have jumped over it. Catra pushes some fly-away strands of hair out of her face and makes eye contact with Adora, who suddenly reddens. “You good?” says Adora somewhat stiltedly.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says. “You’re the winded one.”

 

For some reason, Adora blushes even harder. “Whatever,” she says, reaching up to tug at her ponytail.

 

Catra’s eyes stray to her biceps too quickly. She’s suddenly struck by the picturesque moment – Adora silhouetted by a sky of full orange and pink clouds. Catra gulps, and in a moment of panic she splashes Adora.

 

“ _Hey!_ ”

 

Catra’s met with a spray of water from Adora, which makes her snort. They go back and forth, trying to get the most amount of water, yelling and ducking as they do so. Adora’s shamelessly noisy about it, too, shrieking each time the cold water touches her stomach or hair.

 

It’s a blissful four seconds or so, until they both go under.

 

Neither of them notice the wave until it’s crashed over them. It’s a big wave, too, because the sun is setting – Catra tries to gulp in air and instead gets seawater. She screws her eyes shut and pulls her limbs close to herself so that she tumbles her way until the wave’s too weak to carry her further.

 

“Catra? _Catra?”_ Adora rushes up to her, quick to kneel in the water and to wrap an arm around Catra’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

 

Catra coughs up some seawater and, particularly annoyed with how _embarrassing_ the whole situation is, snaps, “I knew this was a bad idea.” She rises quickly.

 

“Catra–” Adora makes another move to grab at Catra’s arm.

 

Catra shakes her off. “I’m going to go dry off,” she says, and marches towards the beach house.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Adora almost goes after her before deciding against it, Catra’s name dying on her lips. Glimmer catches up to Adora quickly, resting a hand on her shoulder and then, after a pause, pulling Adora into a hug from behind. “I’m sorry,” says Glimmer quietly. “I know how much you wanted this to go well.”

 

Adora sighs. “It’s okay,” she says. “Catra’s–”

 

“A lot,” offers Glimmer, and Adora snorts.

 

“You know,” says Adora, “They used to say that about me. _Oh, Adora’s A Lot._ I could never focus. Always talking too loudly. Forgetful as all get out.”

 

“So the same,” teases Glimmer, and Adora turns around to push her lightly. She sees Bow in the distance, wading over to them slowly, and breathes in as Glimmer reattaches herself to Adora’s front this time. “I know,” says Glimmer, after a pause. “You told me once. I remember.”

 

“I just – she was there for me for a long time,” says Adora.

 

Glimmer snorts and rolls her eyes. “And she’s here, now, with you. Don’t be stupid, Adora.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” echoes Adora, “got it. I’ll just, uh, rewire my personality.”

 

“Shut up,” says Glimmer, and smacks Adora’s arm lightly. “Let’s go check on her, alright?”

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

There’s a room problem. Or rather, since Adora quickly volunteers to sleep with Catra in the guest bedroom – a _bed_ problem. Specifically, there’s one bed, and two of them. “I can sleep on the floor,” says Adora immediately, to which Catra pulls an annoyed face. Sharing a bed with her is that bad, huh?

 

Catra surveys the guest bedroom. It’s got this weird shrine thing in the corner, a somewhat comfortable floral armchair, and a king size bed covered in bedsheets Catra’s abuelita would use. There’s not a lot of floor space. What space there is, is covered with a light layer of magazines. “And where,” she drawls, “are you going to find the room?”

 

Adora moves some papers around with her foot. “I can make some,” she says.

 

“You’d really rather do that than sleep in a bed with me.”

 

Adora stills, startled. She’s blushing again. She’s been doing that a lot recently. Her hand goes up to tighten her blonde ponytail, still wet – Catra resists the urge to tell her that her hairline’s going to recede – and then, once the silence has stretched thin, she quietly says, “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

Catra blinks. “We shared beds as kids.”

 

“But that was – that was a long time ago!”

 

“Fine, take the floor, whatever.” Catra sits on the bed with an _oomph._ It’s surprisingly springy. “I really don’t care.”

 

“You just said–” Adora bites her lip and furrows her eyebrows in frustration. “God, I can’t do anything right with you.”

 

Catra freezes.

 

Adora doesn’t look at her, just at her feet. Her shoulders are still up and tight with tension – they’re silent for a moment, and then Adora lets out a long breath, obviously forcing her muscles to relax. “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “It’s been a long night. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

 

Catra pats the space next to her silently and waits for Adora to look at her, surprised, before moving to sit down next to her. “I’m sorry, too,” she murmurs, surprised at how much she’s apologized. “It’s been – a long time.” Adora’s always been so easy to rile up, Catra’s forgotten that they’re not the same anymore; what used to be funny is now just plain mean.

 

“I was so excited to reconnect,” says Adora, “that I forgot how long it’s been. We barely know each other.”

 

Catra swallows and tries not to be offended. Adora’s right. Catra knows she is. “Share the bed with me,” she says, quiet, deciding not to respond. There’s a pause in which Adora doesn’t say anything, and Catra, antsy to fill the silence, adds, “You don’t have to be so self-sacrificing all the time. You’re not the hostess.”

 

Adora cracks a smile, shoves into Catra’s side. Catra lets out a gasp, collapsing backward into the bed dramatically. “I’ve been murdered!” she cries.

 

“Scandal!” yells Adora, and hits Catra with a pillow for good measure.

 

 _How un-chivalrous of you, hitting a girl when she’s down,_ Catra would say, if she weren’t laughing hard enough to burst a lung.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

They get ready for bed in silence – one takes the bathroom to brush their teeth while the other changes into pajamas, and then they switch. Adora hums a while as she brushes her teeth, letting down her hair and waiting at the door patiently for Catra to knock. When she does, there’s a wordless exchange of rooms, and Adora’s careful not to look too long at Catra in her short pajamas shorts and tank top.

 

It’s not Adora’s fault. Catra’s always been _attractive._ She knows that. But that doesn’t mean anything. There are lots of attractive people. Glimmer’s attractive. So what?

 

“Left side,” calls Catra from the bathroom, startling her.

 

“What?”

 

“I want the left side of the bed,” she says, appearing in the doorway as Adora turns around. Her hair’s still damp. Her fingers are combing through the braid carefully, unravelling it, and for a moment Adora’s attention lingers a little too long on their precision before she forces herself to make eye contact.

 

“Ri–right,” she stutters, and then shakes her head to clear it. “Hey, wait, you always used to get left.”

 

“I guess I haven’t changed,” says Catra, fingers still teasing apart the braid. She’s smirking slightly. She saunters towards Adora, bushes past her, and moves to that side of the bed. “You haven’t, anyway,” she adds, and begins to test pillows for their fluffiness, moving over her least favorites to Adora’s side of the bed.

 

“What are you– _hey_!”

 

Catra snorts. “You snooze, you lose.”

 

“We’re not twelve, shut up.”

 

“You shut up.”

 

Adora crosses her arms. “No, _you–_ ”

 

Catra responds by picking up one of Adora’s pillows and flinging it at her. Adora staggers backwards with a muffled shout as the accursed, but very fluffy thing hits the top of her head, causing Catra to burst into peals of laughter. Adora steadies herself and huffs. “I see why you don’t play basketball.”

 

“Neither do you,” points out Catra.

 

Adora lifts her leg and rotates her foot ninety degrees. She then pats her calf. “No, all my precision is right here,” she says proudly.

 

Catra manages to hold her _seriously_ expression for half a second before bursting into laughter. “God, you’re literally twelve,” she says in between giggles.

 

“I am _not_ ,” says Adora. “Anyway, I want to go hiking tomorrow, so let’s go to bed.” She moves towards her side of the bed, pulling back the covers and sliding in. She’s already plugged in her phone to her charger connected outlet by the night stand, and so she fumbles for it now and checks the time.

 

After a second, Catra also moves toward the bed and begins to slink in. “Fine, whatever, but I want to read for a bit.”

 

“Ooh, what book?” Adora turns and makes a movement for the paperback in Catra’s hands, which results in Catra turning violently to keep it out of her reach. “Come _on,_ Catra, I just want to see it,” whines Adora, struggling against Catra’s surprisingly sharp elbow to reach for it. She can just _barely_ make out the words on the back–

 

“Is that _Beowulf?”_

 

“No!”

 

“Oh my God, it is,” says Adora, relaxing against Catra.

 

“Get _off,_ ” grunts Catra, elbowing Adora again, which makes Adora realize – well, she’s literally pressed herself into Catra, heart pounding from the short struggle, chest rising up and down with each breathe and meeting Catra’s, and they’re in _bed_ , and – her cheeks heat up.

 

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” she mumbles, rolling off of Catra and onto the cold sheet on her side of the bed.

 

She can still feel the warm press of their bodies even after she’s moved. She’s probably bright red. “Thanks,” says Catra, equally awkwardly. At least, thinks Adora, Catra is just as affected by – by _this_ as she is. With that thought, Adora swallows and switches her reading lamp off and turns onto her side, stretching as she does.

 

Catra also stretches at the same time, and their feet meet. “You crossed to my side of the bed,” says Catra immediately.

 

Adora sits up and lifts her legs under the covers to judge whether or not she has. “No I haven’t,” she responds, annoyed, and Catra blinks.

 

“Yes, you have, look!” Catra makes a slicing motion with her hand, passing over Adora’s ankles.

 

“No, I haven’t, your line is off.”

 

“No it–”

 

Adora huffs and sits up. “Fine,” she says, and grabs a pillow from under Catra’s head. Catra begins to protest before she sees Adora put it on its side between them, taking one of her own pillows and doing the same. “Look, I made a wall. Don’t cross the wall, okay, and I won’t either.”

 

“Fine,” says Catra, reopening her book.

 

“Fine,” says Adora drowsily, closing her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes im sorry yall for such a wait...it might be a bit of a wait for the next chap too but we'll see! the good news is. this fic is now going to be six chapters. the bad news? this fic is going to be. six chapters. regardless come yell at me @figbian on tumblr and/or yell at me in the comments for being such a slow writer, among other things,
> 
>  
> 
> [in other news, this lovely person made some very funny art and i very much recommend looking at it](https://twitter.com/nearlynoon/status/1121664888760233984?s=20)


	5. i will love you no matter where you go & who you see

(july. 2009.)

 

“Catra,” says Adora worriedly once, age thirteen. Catra sits up in bed as quietly as she can, turning over to face Adora as she does so. Adora’s hair is silver in the moonlight, lower lip a little swollen as she continues to bite it. “Catra, you have to promise not to laugh at me if I ask you something.”

 

Catra, bemused if not a little enchanted by Adora in the dark, stills. She tugs at the old UC Irvine t-shirt that Adora stole from Razz so Catra had a pair of pajamas. The shirt slips off one shoulder slowly at first, then all at once. When Catra speaks, it’s soft, a little too curious. “What?”

 

“Promise,” says Adora, more urgently.

 

“Fine,” says Catra after a while, watching her. Worry creeps in, then, as it does so easily in the dark. “Is something wrong?”

 

“I just–” Adora frowns, then lets out a sigh. Her shoulders sag. She reaches up to fiddle with a piece of hair. “Well, since Sea Hawk and I are–” _Dating,_ Catra mentally finishes for her. Adora has just started dating Sea Hawk recently. He asked her out as awkwardly as a middle schooler can: a text, some hand holding at the local fair, a little too much blushing. As far as Catra’s concerned, it’s something for Adora to be happy about, not– “Can I kiss you?”

 

 _“What?”_ The seriousness of the situation evaporates, and Catra bites back a laugh.

 

“You promised!”

 

“Alright, alright, I promised,” says Catra, hushing her. “Don’t wake your moms up. Why do you want–”

 

“I don’t know how, okay,” says Adora. “What if I screw up, Catra? What if I, like, knock out his front teeth or bite him or–”

 

“Adora,” says Catra, moving in closer. Her heart is beating so quickly she’s afraid Adora can hear it. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” She’s not sure if she should let Adora – if this is something Adora will want from her if she knows – she’s not sure. She searches Adora’s expression for a moment, but Adora keeps looking at her, pleading–

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Adora wakes up hazy. Sunlight filters through the slits of the window and into her eyes. In broad daylight, the room is just as messy and obscenely floral. She pauses. Something about this information is wrong, but she’s too sleepy to parse out what. She closes her eyes, burrowing her nose into Catra’s shoulder–

 

_Oh._

 

She freezes. One arm is wrapped around Catra, which Catra has in turn clutched to her chest. Their legs are intertwined. Whatever wall of pillows there was is squished underneath them. _Oh._ Oh, dear. It’s weird, maybe, if she thinks about it, but the familiarity is still there – all those years, sleepovers pressed into Catra’s stomach or pressing into her side. She sighs. Catra still uses the same shampoo.

 

She lets herself rest like that for a while, the sun still in her eyes and making her drowsy, arms held by and holding Catra, breaths matching the other girl’s. Somewhere, outside of her room, she can hear Glimmer and Bow chattering, but she’s not motivated to get up and join them.

 

As her chest moves up and down, she feels Catra stiffen underneath her, and then quickly, but gently unpeel Adora’s arms from her chest. The movement is sudden enough to push her out of her dazed state. Adora squeezes her eyes shut as Catra shifts and begins to wiggle her way out of their embrace.

 

Though it’s not cold out, Adora shivers when Catra’s warmth leaves her. There’s a pause. And then, “Are you…” says Catra, voice husky and dry, “are you pretending to be asleep?”

 

Adora conjures up her best sleepy voice. “No,” she slurs as best as she can. “You just woke me up.”

 

“I call BS,” says Catra, and Adora feels a sharp jab in her side.

 

“Ow!” she says, eyes snapping open. When she does, she takes in an involuntary big breath of air, met with Catra’s too-close face, lets it out too fast as her vision focuses. Catra’s expression is soft, though, amused, and a little bit out of focus, like she, too, is getting caught up in the familiarity of the scene. She looks well-rested, too, thinks Adora somewhat smugly.

 

Catra lets out a small puff of air and for a moment, they lean each other as if by gravitational pull. Adora takes in another shuddery breath as they do so, until they’re so close that – their noses meet, and Catra yanks herself back. “Oh my god, you totally were pretending,” continues Catra, acting as if they didn’t almost just – yeah.

 

“I was not!” Adora’s fully awake now, and sitting up.

 

“You totally were just cuddling with me on purpose, oh my god. You’re like a stalker!”

 

Adora wrinkles her nose. “You were the one who was holding my arms to your chest.”

 

“Was not.”

 

“Was too.”

 

“You wouldn’t have known that if you didn’t wake up first!”

 

Adora scowls. “I only woke up because you started moving!”

 

“Right,” says Catra. “You’re so mean to your wife.”

 

Adora scoffs. “I’m mean. _I’m_ mean? I’m offended, Catra,” she says, getting out of bed and advancing on Catra. Catra flushes, and Adora smiles at this, realizing she’s got some kind of upper hand here. She walks forward towards the window as Catra backs up. Catra’s haloed by sunlight, skin sunkissed and ever-warm. Adora’s momentarily distracted by this; she doesn’t notice that Catra’s hit the wall until she bumps into the other girl.

 

They both jump. Catra wraps her arms around Adora, and Adora shivers. But Adora’s not one for losing – she places her arms on the windowsill around Catra, effectively trapping her. Catra angles her head up to meet Adora’s stare, raising an eyebrow as she does so. “Very offended,” Adora repeats, voice low. She bites back a grin. She’s _winning._

 

Catra visibly gulps. She looks like she’s about to say something when–

 

“Uh, guys?”

 

It’s Bow, and he looks – well, he looks like he thinks he just walked in on _something._ Adora springs backwards and puts her hands behind her back. Catra beside her does the same. They probably have matching guilty expressions. “I, um, just came to tell you that breakfast is ready, but if I’m interrupting anything–”

 

“No!” they both say at the same time.

 

“Breakfast sounds great, Bow,” says Adora.

 

“Yeah, thanks,” says Catra.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

“You want to go on a hike,” repeats Catra. Adora nods enthusiastically.

 

“Bow and I are going to, um, you know.” Glimmer looks over to Bow.

 

“Going to try that ice cream place in town?” offers Bow.

 

“Cowards,” responds Adora teasingly, then turns to look at Catra pleadingly. “Come on. It’ll be fun. There’ll be a nice view, we can pack a picnic, whatever.” When Adora looks at her like this, even after however many years, Catra’s surprised at how hard it is to say no. And it’s hard. Really, really hard. “Say yes,” says Adora.

 

“Yes,” says Catra, after a pause. “Fine, whatever.”

 

After all, maybe there’s something rewarding in seeing Adora in a sports bra and workout shorts. Maybe. Catra’s not blind, either, to the way Adora’s been flirting with her. She didn’t even realize Adora did flirt. “Let me just go change, okay?” she tells Adora, moving towards their shared room before she can get an answer.

 

Once she’s dressed, she walks back towards the living room. She stops, though, when she hears her name. It’s said lowly, too, and Catra’s lived a lifetime of her name being whispered to know what that means. “Are you and Catra…” says the voice, presumably Glimmer. “I mean, Adora, you guys just reconnected?”

 

“Me and Catra what?” Adora’s voice is a little too high.

 

“You know. Bow said he walked in on–”

 

“Oh, that? That’s nothing. We were just teasing each other. You and I do that to each other all the time.”

 

Glimmer makes a frustrated noise. Catra edges closer towards the living room, still hiding in the hallway. She tries to keep her breathing soft and quiet. “All I’m saying is, we’ve been best friends for four years, Adora. When was the last time you and Catra were best friends? And also, the way she looks at you–”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Glimmer! All that’s happening is I’m reconnecting with someone who used to be really important to me.”

 

“And you’re sure.”

 

“Of course. Look, you know Catra’s not really my type.”

 

“Adora, you had a crush on her for years.”

 

“Not my type _anymore,_ okay? Look, Catra clearly wants to be friends again. I can’t just say no. That’s all.”

 

Catra frowns, and tugs at her shirt. She doesn’t want to hear anymore. The message is clear. “So,” she says, walking into the living room briskly and watching Adora’s face fall into horror, an expression quickly – but badly – hidden. “You ready to go on this hike?” She smiles, too, for effect: all teeth, eyebrow raised, a little too dangerous for anybody’s liking.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

“You’re mad at me.” Adora stops jogging for a moment and turns around to face Catra, who’s panting but not necessarily winded. She’s been trying to make conversation for half an hour now, and all she’s gotten are one-word answers. Catra skids to a stop as well, putting a hand on her hip and snorting.

 

“No, I’m not,” she says, in the typical deadpan sort of way.

 

Adora sighs. “Come on, yes you are. What did I do–”

 

“What did you do? Oh, I’m sure you have _noo_ idea.”

 

Adora wrinkles her nose. “So you did hear that. I didn’t think you’d be mad–”

 

Catra frowns. “Adora, if you didn’t want to be friends again, then you aren’t fucking _obligated_ –” She stops short and shakes her head. “Whatever,” she says quickly, wiping at her eyes, and beginning to jog up the mountain path again. Beneath them, the hills pan out and they can see the city and a highway pressed up against the water. The sky is completely clear, and the water is bright blue.

 

Adora picks up her pace. “Catra, wait,” she calls. “I do want to be your friend–”

 

“What _ever,_ Adora!”

 

“Catra, stop,” says Adora again, more forcefully, and grabs at Catra’s arm to physically stop her. The force of it causes Catra to whirl and slam into Adora’s side. The two of them are suddenly pressed awkwardly into each other, nose to nose. Adora can feel Catra’s breath against her lips.

 

“Why do you care, anyway?”

 

“Because I do want to be your friend,” repeats Adora, more firmly. She shifts her grip on Catra to hold her more tenderly. “You were my first crush. My best friend. I don’t want to let go of that because we were stupid teenagers.” She pauses. “Or,” she adds thoughtfully, “because we’re dumb adults.”

 

“First crush,” repeats Catra weakly, like the wind has been knocked out of her. “Adora, you have _got_ to stop flirting with me.”

 

“Flirting…?”

 

Catra breaks away and rubs at her temple. “Yes, flirting.”

 

“I’m not…?” Adora frowns, confused. “Am I?”

 

Catra sighs. “It doesn’t matter. Never mind. I’m just not used to how affectionate and...honest you can be, that’s all. Not anymore.” She offers her arm, which Adora takes in her own tentatively. Adora smiles, shaking her head to clear it, and Catra says, “Come on, then, dumbass. Let’s finish this hike.”

 

“Alright,” responds Adora, but she’s left with this lingering feeling she’s forgotten something, and it’s not that it’s longing, just that –

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

“Hey,” says Catra as they walk down the path and towards the beach house. “Remember when you dated Sea Hawk?”

 

“Yeah,” says Adora, quiet. “That sucked.”

 

Catra raises an eyebrow. Their hands are still locked. It’s quiet out, with the rush of cars having slowed underneath them. “You want me to take a picture of you?” she says after a while, which doesn’t quite capture what she means, but the look on Adora’s face shows that Adora got the gist.

 

The gist being, _I missed you._ The gist being, _I’m sorry for being a bitch earlier._ The gist being, _It sucked for me, too._

 

“We can take a selfie,” offers Adora instead, pulling out her phone. “Look, if we face the beach we won’t be backlit, ‘cause it’s still early,” she says excitedly, and Catra bites her lip and tries not to smile too widely, because she gets the gist, too. Adora holds Catra close as she snaps the picture, grinning.

 

(The gist being, _I’m sorry, too._ The gist being something unexplainable, just something that Catra inherently understands).

 

“Send it to me, okay?”

 

“Yeah,” says Adora, humming as she looks at it. “We’re cute.”

 

“You’re cute,” says Catra immediately.

 

“No, you are.” Adora punctuates this with a shove.

 

Catra rolls her eyes and laughs. “Whatever, Adora, let’s just go home.”

 

“Man,” says Adora. “You can give, but you can’t take, huh?” And Catra bursts into peals of laughter, because it’s so _lame,_ she’s talking about _compliments,_ because Catra went on a fucking _hike_ for her,because – and this is the most important thing – because it’s Adora, and Catra’s really, really happy.

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

 **adora** **(1:12 pm)** : Did you know Sea Hawk is a lifeguard at the local pool?

 **adora** **(1:12 pm)** : It’s sooo funny he’s so self important

 **adora** **(1:13 pm)** : I bet he only did it to impress Mermista

 **catra** **(1:14 pm)** : sounds like sea hawk lmao?

 **adora** **(1:15 pm)** : Yeah! You should come and make fun of him with me

 **catra** **(1:17 pm)** : u think ur sooo smooth alexin

 **catra** **(1:17 pm)** : i’ll be there in five

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

“You came!” Adora’s vaguely aware she’s beaming. In her hand is the giant cooler she uses during the soccer season, an obnoxious highlighter orange. Catra slides her sunglasses down her nose to inspect the cooler, and then Adora’s wide, unabashed grin, and deigns only a raised eyebrow as a response. “What,” says Adora, “too cool for me?”

 

Catra snorts. “Always.”

 

“Fine then,” says Adora, clutching her cooler possessively. “I won’t share my lemonade.”

 

“You–”

 

“Hey, ladies!” It’s Sea Hawk. He wraps his arms around the two of them, always too close for comfort, never noticing. “Nice to see you both again! It’s almost as if you’re turning up to every single one of my jobs on purpose!” He laughs as he says this, belly-deep, while Catra and Adora nervously chuckle and untangle themselves from his embrace.

 

“Just going swimming, Sea Hawk,” says Catra smoothly. “Adora’s brought me some lemonade.”

 

“Some of _Mara’s_ lemonade?”

 

Adora clutches her cooler more tightly. “I’m not sharing,” she says.

 

“Fine,” says Catra.

 

“Fine,” says Adora.

 

“Al _right_ ,” says Sea Hawk nervously. He begins to inch away from the two of them. “I’ll just, uh, be over there. In case you drown. Or anyone else, for that matter. You know how it is.” Adora thinks about it, and realizes she doesn’t, exactly, know how it is. In fact, she has no idea what Sea Hawk’s talking about. But Sea Hawk’s gone by the time she considers pointing this out.

 

Catra holds out her hand.

 

“I wasn’t kidding!”

 

“Yes you were,” she says, giving Adora a pointed look. “I didn’t come here to swim, anyway. Just to make fun of Sea Hawk, and _God,_ he makes that so easy.”

 

“You’re sadistic.”

 

Catra pulls her phone out and waves it in front of Adora’s face. “And you aren’t? Give me some lemonade, Alexin!” Adora, ever mature, sticks her tongue out, and Catra evidently takes that as an excuse to tackle her onto a lawn chair. They land with a thud – “What are you _doing?”_ – and Adora twisting to keep the cooler away from Catra’s prying arms.

 

For a moment she just stretches it out of Catra’s reach, using her other arm’s forearm to keep Catra in position, the heat slowing her down as well as the warm mass on top of her. All of a sudden the sunlight seems to make everything pause and Adora takes a moment to breathe in deeply and savor the moment.

 

But Catra makes another movement upward. “Get...off,” Adora grunts. Then she begins to wiggle to shake Catra off, sending her into a bout of laughter at how awkward the whole situation is. She lifts her knee and it just parts Catra’s legs. She tries to reposition herself: her elbow collides with Catra’s rib, causing Catra to jerk upward and start to laugh uncontrollably as well.

 

“Come,” still laughing, “on,” gulping down air as she shakes, “Adora.”

 

Adora knees her in the stomach in response.

 

“Real mature,” sniffs Catra, winded, and rolls off. “You’ve killed me.” She lays there, on the hot concrete, one hand over her forehead, chest rising and sinking in shaky movements.

 

“Lemonade is very important,” Adora responds with a smirk.

 

“Just give me some.”

 

“Fine, fine, whatever.” She unscrews the cap and hands the whole thing to Catra, who sits up straight suddenly.

 

“I love you,” sighs Catra as she takes a sip, and Adora stiffens. Catra, who either hasn’t noticed what she’s said or just can’t be bothered, continues to gulp down the drink while Adora panics. _I love you._ What does that mean? Why are her cheeks suddenly burning? She scratches at her arm in distress.

 

As if on cue, Catra looks up, and her expression morphs from euphoria to distress. “God, Adora, I thought you were a soccer player. You’re bright red and practically hyperventilating; we should get you to the shade.”

 

“Yes. Shade. Shade, that’s what I need.” Adora lets out a small, high-strung laugh.

 

“Whatever, weirdo.”

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Catra decides to wear the hat Scorpia bought her a year ago to the farmer’s market. It’s partially because Scorpia texts her to do it, and partially because Catra’s been out in the sun a lot more than usual lately. She blames Adora. Aren’t Adora’s friends from college _literally_ visiting her right now? Why is she texting Catra?

 

 _Why are you responding,_ a tiny part of her asks.

 

 _Shut up,_ the rest of her responds.

 

“Catra! There you are!” Scorpia says, snapping her out of her thoughts. “I told you I was by the strawberries, not the oranges.”

 

“The oranges are next to the strawberries. You said next to the strawberries!”

 

Scorpia rolls her eyes. “It’s okay if you weren’t paying attention.” She’s got heavy makeup on  again, this time with little black and red flowers coming off of her eyeliner. Catra tries really hard to think of a way to make fun of it, but it’s actually really well done, and so she comes up blank. _This is Adora’s doing,_ she thinks. _I’m going soft._

 

“You look too emo for the farmer’s market.”

 

“Catra, we’ve been over this. I’m _goth,_ and no one cares, anyway.”

 

“Whatever, they’re the same to me.”

 

“Middle schooler you is churning somewhere...I remember when you were goth with me, you know.”

 

Catra clutches her ears with her hands. “I can’t hear you,” she says loudly, while Scorpia booms with laughter and wraps Catra up into a hug. “That’s a thing that _never_ happened and you’re a shamefaced liar. I’ll sue you for slander. You’ll help me pay for law school. Is that what you–”

 

She’s cut off by being suffocated into Scorpia’s chest. When she comes up for air, she’s still spluttering, but Scorpia’s smile is so bright and warm she can’t help but let it go. “Whatever,” says Catra. “You said you wanted tomatoes?”

 

“You know,” says Scorpia gently, “we could also get some ingredients for you, if you want to have Adora over for dinner.”

 

Catra freezes, then narrows her eyes. “You want me to invite Adora over.”

 

“Well, I mean, that’s what people in relationships do.”

 

“Scorpia! We’re _not_ in a relationship.” Catra pulls her hands through her hair in frustration. “We’re just friends, okay? I’ve made this very clear. Just friends.” To punctuate this, she forcefully plucks an orange slice from the _samples_ bin with a toothpick, and takes a bite. It’s surprisingly sweet – she makes an attempt for another one, but Scorpia stops her.

 

“The sign said only one, Catra.”

 

“But I want more than one.”

 

“You’re avoiding the Adora question.”

 

“There is no Adora question! I want another orange slice!”

 

Scorpia sighs. “Buy one, then,” she says, and Catra wrinkles her nose.

 

“I’d rather die,” she sniffs. “Besides, farmer’s markets are _expensive_.” She knows what Scorpia will say to that, something like _but the produce is fresh_ or _but it’s so worth it, Catra_ and since she really doesn’t want to hear it, she says, “What do we need to buy again?” and enjoys the way Scorpia’s face lights up.

 

“So I want to make this pasta dish, right,” begins Scorpia, and Catra nods and hums at all the right times. The thing is: Scorpia’s a terrible cook. The worst. Even Entrapta’s better, which is saying something, but Scorpia likes cooking nonetheless. Catra only eats the food Scorpia makes a quarter of the time, but that’s beyond the point. It’s all about supporting Scorpia’s terrible decisions, since Scorpia’s supported far more of Catra’s.

 

“You should help me make it,” finishes Scorpia. “We could invite Adora–”

 

“Enough with the inviting Adora!”

 

“But you do like her.”

 

“It’s barely been a week since we reconnected.”

 

“But you do like her,” repeats Scorpia a little more insistently.

 

“No, Scorpia, I do _not_ like her,” replies Catra, frustrated. “We just – we just were friends for a long time, and I missed her, okay? She was – is, I don’t know – important to me. That’s it. That’s all.” It doesn’t exactly feel like a lie, either, just that… well, it’s not that it’s longing, exactly, but–

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

“You should come over for dinner on Thursday,” chirps Adora on the phone. “I have a contract to uphold.”

 

They’ve been talking for a couple days now, texting and hanging out a surprising amount. Glimmer and Bow have certainly commented on it, and Adora has to keep explaining to them that it’s just platonic, she’s just really, _really_ missed Catra. And it’s true – she didn’t realize how well they clicked until Catra came back into her life.

 

She has the best friends in the entire universe. They don’t even get that jealous about it, even though they came down to visit her and she feels a little guilty about it. Bow, especially, insists Adora allow herself to heal on all the hurt of drifting away from Catra. (“Plus,” he tells her, “I think she likes you.”

 

Adora goes red. “She does _not_ – I don’t even–” she splutters.

 

“Whatever you say, Adora,” chimes in Glimmer, sing-song).

 

“I’ve been waiting for an invite,” says Catra, somewhat staticky, snapping Adora out of her thoughts. “I miss your mom.”

 

“Wow,” says Adora. “All this was just a ploy to see my mom again, huh?”

 

Catra laughs over the receiver and Adora traces the unicorn sticker as she does so. It’s getting dark now, and a little chilly. The sky is turning purple above her, and the brightest stars are starting to twinkle. “Oh, drat,” says Catra, faux-disappointed, “I can’t believe you’ve caught on to my plans.”

 

“What the _heck,_ Catra, who says ‘drat’ anymore?”

 

“You’re one to talk – you won’t even say ‘hell’!”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Catra snorts. “You shut up.”

 

“No, you.”

 

“Oh, so you want me to hang up?” Catra’s grinning now, Adora can tell, even if she can’t see it. That cheshire grin, like she’s caught Adora, like she’s won. That used to be her favorite thing. When they were kids, Adora would have done anything for that smile. Adora smiles in spite of herself, too, warmth in her chest blossoming.

 

“What _ever,_ Catra, come to dinner.”

 

“What a way to ask out your wife.”

 

“You want roses, too? So picky.”

 

Catra sighs. “This is what you get when you sign your soul away at five.” And then, mockingly sweet, “Adora, my love, my ball and chain, I’d love to see your mothers again.”

 

Adora rolls her eyes. “I’ll make sure there’s extra lemonade.”

 

Catra makes a noise, somewhere between a restrained whoop and a drawn out _yes_ that makes Adora smile wider, somehow, and laugh a bit, too. She feels twelve again, sneaking out to the backyard to talk to Catra _just a little longer_ on the phone, even though they’d see each other the next day.

 

“I missed you, you know,” she blurts.

 

Catra’s suddenly silent. Adora can’t even hear her breathing. And then, after a pause: “I missed you, too,” quiet, tender.

 

_I missed you, too._

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

Adora looks up from her phone just as Glimmer appears from the changing room. She’s wearing a neon pink mesh shirt, with a bright yellow sports bra underneath, and underneath _that_ the top of her bra’s powder blue cups are showing. “Wow,” says Adora after a moment. “That’s very…”

 

“Bold?” says Bow excitedly. “It’s _gorgeous,_ you totally pull it off.”

 

“Do I though?” asks Glimmer, turning around to inspect herself again in the mirror.

 

Adora shakes her head by way of answering. “Adora,” says Bow disappointedly. “Be _supportive._ It’s a look, okay, and it’s just very…” he pauses for a moment to think. “Music festival! And that’s _super_ hip.” He pauses and pops out his own hip for emphasis, sending Adora into peals of laughter behind her hands.

 

“I don’t know,” says Glimmer. “Adora _did_ pick this out as a joke outfit.”

 

“I don’t think it’s goth enough either,” says Adora hurriedly. This always happens: they pick out ugly outfits, and then Bow actually _likes_ them. Glimmers got a fuzzy purple tank top, and Adora has an inappropriate pair of booty shorts because of Bow’s enthusiasm. Adora sometimes thinks he does it on purpose.

 

“Punk, Adora, okay? There’s a difference!”

 

“Yeah, Adora,” says Bow, even though he also can’t tell them apart. Adora sticks her tongue out at him when Glimmer turns her back to inspect herself again. He shrugs in response. _Must be supportive, even to Glimmer’s detriment,_ is what that means. Adora starts to laugh again.

 

“I don’t think I’m going to get it,” says Glimmer.

 

“Good,” says Adora. “My turn.” She holds up her own rainbow mesh top and holographic tank. “Do I have to include the skirt?” The skirt in question is a pencil skirt, bright blue, and _pleather._ It’s the worst thing Adora’s ever seen. She’s not even sure if it’ll fit. She pulls a pleading face.

 

“Yes,” say Bow and Glimmer in unison, completely unaffected by Adora’s expression. Adora groans.

 

“Whatever,” she says, and walks into the changing room.

 

She pulls on the skirt first, but realizes about halfway through putting on the tank top she’ll have to unzip it to tuck the tank in. The mesh goes on top. She inspects herself in the mirror before she opens the door. Adora’s legs are unshaven, still, and the skirt is just barely long enough, anyway, but somehow her ass looks really good in it. The colors, as suspected, clash horribly, but before she can help it, she turns around and takes a selfie on Snapchat and sends it to Catra. _Out shopping! Should I buy this,_ she writes.

 

Glimmer and Bow start laughing when she leaves the changing room. “Oh my _God,_ Adora, that’s worse than mine,” says Glimmer. Bow shoots her a look.

 

“The skirt looks good,” he tells her confidently.

 

She gives them a twirl. “I know,” she replies somewhat sullenly. “If it weren’t so ugly–”

 

“If you wore skirts, Adora,” points out Glimmer.

 

Adora snorts and poses for them. She’s half aware that her armpit hair, too, is on full display – usually she doesn’t mind; she likes not being clean shaven, but sometimes strangers look at her in public spaces with a kind of disgust, leaving her with the vague sense of embarrassment.

 

Glimmer’s stomach growls. “Let’s get lunch, you guys,” she says.

 

“Yeah,” says Bow. “You gonna get the skirt, Adora?”

 

“No,” says Adora. “Give me a sec, let me change back.”

 

They get smoothies before they actually find lunch. Glimmer and Bow aren’t really big eaters, but Adora is, certainly, and so half of their shopping trips are spent by quick pit stops to the food court. Glimmer and Adora are briefly distracted by the Disney Store’s _Make Your Own Lightsaber!_ display, but Bow chastises them before he even sees them looking: “If you break those fighting each other, _again,_ I’m not helping pay!”

 

He would, of course, but the message is clear enough, and they pass over the display.

 

Once Adora has bought a sandwich, two slices of pizza, stolen one of Glimmer’s tacos, and a pretzel to top it all off, they sit down and begin to eat. Adora’s mostly silent now, busy with stuffing her face, while Glimmer and Bow compare what they’ve bought. Glimmer’s gotten some cool pink eyeshadow thing – Adora, truthfully, doesn’t understand makeup – and transparent sock things with little embroidered flowers. Bow got another cropped sweater and some books.

 

Adora, however, has blown most of her money on food. “This always happens,” she complains.

 

Glimmer and Bow laugh. “We’ll spot you if you want something,” says Bow.

 

“Yeah, don’t worry, Adora.” Glimmer sighs. “I have _no_ idea what I’d wear these socks with.”

 

She nods and takes another bite of her pizza as Bow launches into an outfit idea. Her phone buzzes and she picks it up to read the notification: _catra has screenshotted your snap!_ She pauses for a moment, trying to remember what she sent. A picture of her food…? It dawns on her after a moment: the horrible outfit.

 

 _Blackmail?_ she writes.

_catra is typing…_

catra: _what are u talking about_

adora: _The screenshot you took_

catra: _oh. yeah i didnt realize u got the notif_

catra: _u looked stupid. buy it_

adora: _You’re so meann_

adora: _):_

catra: _only to u babe <3 _

 

“Hey Adora, whatcha smiling at?” Glimmer says. Adora looks up and slams her phone down on the table and then jumps at the noise. Both Glimmer and Bow have matching mischievous grins. They know _exactly_ what Adora’s smiling at. “It couldn’t be...Catra, could it?” Adora feels her cheeks heat. She’s probably a vibrant red.

 

“What! What are you talking about?”

 

“Adora, you’re blushing.”

 

“I’m sunburnt!”

 

“You weren’t sunburnt three seconds ago,” points out Bow. “You know, it’s okay to have a crush–”

 

“Crush? Ha! Who said anything about crush! Just texting my…mom, you guys? You know. Like you do.”

 

Glimmer raises an eyebrow. “Which one?”

 

“Which one what?”

 

“Which mom, Adora?” asks Glimmer.

 

“Oh. Uh.” Adora pauses for a moment and realizes she can’t remember either of her mothers’ names. She begins to blush harder. _Come on,_ she thinks a little desperately. “Both?” she tries. “Yeah, in a group chat.” _Oh, this is good. Good catch, Adora._ “They just texted to say...that they wanted me home for dinner?”

 

Glimmer gives her a dubious look. “And that made you smile.”

 

“Yup, I love my moms!”

 

“But Adora, Razz doesn’t have a cellphone,” says Bow.

 

Adora freezes. _Right. She doesn’t have a cellphone._ “It was Catra, wasn’t it,” says Glimmer. Adora opens her mouth and Glimmer shushes her before she can even make a noise. “No one’s saying anything about a crush if you don’t want us to, okay? We just want to support you. That’s all.”

 

Adora narrows her eyes. “That’s all?”

 

Bow moves to give Adora an awkward hug from his seat next to her. “That’s all.”

 

“It was Catra,” says Adora nervously.

 

Glimmer begins to grin again. “Oooo–”

 

“Glimmer! Supportive,” chastises Bow.

 

“Right! Supportive,” repeats Glimmer. And then, like she can’t help herself, she leans towards Adora and props her chin up under her hand. “Soooo,” she says, drawing out the word, “what’d she say to make you smile like that?” Bow sighs and slaps his palm to his forehead.

 

“It’s okay, Bow,” says Adora, laughing. “So, I sent her a picture of that outfit and she made fun of me–”

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2018.)

 

 **adora** (6:16 pm): OMG I just saw someone in a Harvard law sweatshirt! That’s you next year!

 

Catra looks up from her book and down at her phone. She sets the book down and considers replying, fighting to keep herself from smiling too widely. Instead, she rests her chin under her palm and looks out the window sill. The sky is clear and bright – she wonders, briefly, if she’ll be able to see stars tonight, or only satellites.

 

(Once, Adora and Catra camped all night in Adora’s back yard. They used to make wishes on moving planes, because Adora mistook one for a shooting star and ever since it’d been an inside joke between them. In the morning, Adora had twigs in her hair because they’d accidentally fallen asleep before going inside the tent and Mara laughed at her and made them pancakes).

 

Catra sighs and reopens her book. It’s only been a week, but sometimes Catra gets the vague feeling they’re chasing after a friendship that’s long gone, filled with more good memories than bad ones. She can’t focus, though: she reads a page and realizes she hasn’t retained any of it, so she starts again.

 

She can’t stop _thinking._ Ever since she reconnected with Adora, she can’t stop thinking.

 

She huffs a breath and puts the book down again, moving across her bedroom floor to knock at a cardboard box. Her childhood memories one is untouched save for the piece of paper she’s carefully tucked into a notebook and hidden under her mattress and the Game Boy plugged into the wall. This box, however, has been rifled through by her father. Catra pulls a face and peers into it.

 

It’s full of old journals, of course. _adora is the culest evr!_ says one from April 13, 2002. Another, from middle school: _Sometimes I think Adora doesn’t want to be my friend anymore._

 

Catra breathes in quietly and traces her thumb over the pencil.

 

_Sometimes I catch her looking at Sea Hawk and all the cool kids and I wonder if she’d rather be their friend, instead. But she always promises that she wants to be mine. Today in math Sea Hawk said that he thinks Adora is super smart and pretty and Adora blushed. I think she likes him._

 

Catra knows that she never wrote anything of worth in these journals, just documentation. She sighs and shuts the journal quickly. She’d always been careful, Catra, in terms of what she wrote down: never anything incriminating. But the old idolization is there, the old heartbreak, all between the lines. _Nevermind,_ she thinks. _What else is in the box?_

 

A couple more journals, each filled mostly with drawings rather than entries. There’s one that makes her laugh, an old comic in which she and Adora are imagined as superheroes. She-Ra and Catra, because Adora was super into it and Catra, by that time, was cautious of being into anything.

 

There’s a battered copy of a golden Egyptian book that Adora gave Catra for her eleventh birthday. Catra smiles a bit when she sees it, taps the fake gem set in the center of the cover. _Egyptology._ On the title page, in Adora’s terrible handwriting: _The Egyptians worshiped cats!!!! Happy birthday, CATra! Love, Adora._

 

Catra snorts. She pulls out her phone to take a picture of the message to send to Adora and quickly sends her a text. Adora’s response is immediate: _OH MYF GOD I REMBEMER THAT!!!!_

 

 _yeah it’s almost as if u wrote it,_  Catra writes back.

 

 **adora (6:32)** : You think you’re soooo cool, don’t you?

 **catra (6:34)** : just cooler than u sweetheart

 

There’s a pause, as there always is, when Catra calls Adora a pet name. She knows that Adora’s probably blushing, or smiling, or something. Catra can just picture it: Adora, sweeping a strand of hair by her ear and pink around the edges, fumbling for a response. Catra cracks a grin. She’s not sure why it feels so good to affect Adora so much.

 

 **adora (6:36):** You’re a terrible wife!!

 

It’s Catra’s turn to stop and blush. Christ, she should have never brought that up. She doesn’t even know why it affects her so much. _But you do like her,_ repeats Scorpia in her head, almost an answer for the question forming in the back of her mind. Catra frowns and picks at a hangnail.

 

So she knows what Scorpia would say. But she screws her eyes shut and thinks about Entrapta, instead, who would be much more level headed about the whole thing. Entrapta would google it. Catra nods. Okay, she thinks, and pulls out her phone. _how to tell if you have a crush on someone,_ she types in, and clicks on the first link: WikiHow.

 

God, Catra’s taking advice from fucking _WikiHow._

 

 

  * __Defining a crush:_ ** _Know what a crush is._** _Urban Dictionary defines a crush as “a burning desire to be with someone who you find very attractive and extremely special.” Crushes make you feel crazy emotions--like feeling shy and uncontrollably giddy at the same time. You can’t always choose who you have a crush on, but you can choose how you react once you figure out that you have a crush on someone__



 

 

Catra shakes her head. She knows what a fucking crush is, thank you very much. And it’s cited _Urban Dictionary._ She’s suddenly struck by how sad this is, and is quick to skim for the most important information: _“The Romantic Crush: Sometimes having a crush on someone really does mean you really, really like them – and in a romantic way at that. Having a romantic crush means that you want to be with that person in more than just a friendly way – you want to be their romantic partner. If you fantasize about kissing, holding hands with, or cuddling with that person, you probably have a romantic crush.”_

 

She pauses to find a piece of paper and a pen, and writes out a checklist using the information she’s just read. She only has five categories: feeling shy, feeling giddy, kissing fantasies, wanting to hold hands, wanting to cuddle. Flashes come to her mind’s eye, unbidden: nearly kissing Adora at the beach house, taking a couple extra minutes to cuddle with her before getting up, Adora telling her she missed her, Adora in a just-too-low pair of swim trunks, Adora with–

 

 _But you do like her,_ says a voice that’s slowly morphing into her own. _You do._

 

Adora at the cafe, Adora calling her wife, Adora–

 

 _Fuck,_ thinks Catra with sudden clarity, setting down the pen. And then, out loud, “Fuck.”

 

 

 

 

 

(july. 2009).

 

“I just want to practice.”

 

She just wants to practice _kissing Catra._ Catra can just make out how Adora looks nervous now in the darkness of Adora’s room, shakes herself out of the moment. _She wants to practice kissing for Sea Hawk,_ she reminds herself. _That’s all._ She repeats it in her head for a couple seconds. _That’s all, that’s all, that’s all._

 

“Please.”

 

“You just–” Catra stops. “I–” The thing is, she wants to. She wants to just lean in and to smooth over Adora’s worried expression. Adora scans over Catra’s face, clearly searching for some validation. The air is still and silent save for the crickets humming. Behind her, Catra thinks she can see the Leo constellation _._

 

Adora’s still looking at her like that. Catra’s still sitting there. Some sort of resolve crumbles; she sighs and reaches out to swipe at Adora’s bitten bottom lip with her thumb. It’s a bit chapped, as it always is, but still soft under her touch.

 

Adora’s expression changes, then, quiet and searching, like she’s trying to decide if this is a yes or a no. She doesn’t say anything – a surprise, because Adora’s always got something to say – and for a moment Catra pretends that it’s because Adora’d rather have Catra touch her than make a comment. For a moment, she’s certain that Adora’s leaning in, and it’s so quiet, with the faint rustling of leaves and the warmth between them and in the thick July air, and Catra bites her own lip before she pulls her thumb away.

 

Adora reaches out and rests her hand on Catra’s neck in response. There’s a pause before either of them react, sluggish because of the late hour and something unspoken. Their foreheads meet gently, and they sit there a moment, not quite about to kiss nor about to pull away, eyes closed. Catra can feel Adora’s hot breath on her lips, both of them deliberating on whether or not to move forward or to pull away. And then Catra lifts her chin and turns her head, a fraction of an inch, for their lips to touch. Adora barely responds, just pulls Catra towards her and widens her lips.

 

It’s a chaste kiss, but heavy with an unspoken emotion. Adora’s hand moves from Catra’s neck to clench at the sheets beside her, and Catra keeps her own fingers tangled in the folds of her shirt. Everything about the way they’re touching each other is gentle, careful, tentative and tender, but Catra’s own fingers begin to ache with how hard she’s clutching her shirt, and Adora flexes her hands as she feels the same thing.

 

But it’s _good,_ kissing Adora, soft and sweet and _good._ It’s not enough, but too shy to follow what she wants, Catra opens her eyes and meets Adora’s gaze. They break apart slowly, silently, in the reverse of their kiss: first they rest their foreheads together, neither daring to say what they want to, and then they move away from one another altogether, so that they’re not touching. There’s a long silence as they stare at each other, stretching their fingers and noting the throb in their joints.

 

“Well,” says Catra, voice scratchy and thick, “I think you’ll kiss Sea Hawk just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adora: oh yeah she makes me blush all the time and i think she's cute and we almost kissed but we're just BEST FRIENDS okay
> 
> anyways. i hope this chaptyer is enjoyable! i think im going to have one more full-length chapter & then a conclusion which'll be maybe half a chapter in length? hopefully it'll only take me abt a week to write these lmao...but if u like this fic please comment & validate me yay


	6. & that is how i will love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really it folks! im sorry it took me so long to write – some things happened and then more things happened and then i didnt write cause im dumb But. Ta-da. Some words. the epilogue is only like 2k and will be up in a muuuch more timely manner !

(august. 2018.)

 

Catra takes in a deep breath of air before ringing the doorbell. The lights are on only in the living room and kitchen; she remembers, now, what a stickler Razz used to be about wastefulness. Probably still is. It’s quiet out, save for the crickets. She’s got a bottle of wine clutched awkwardly under her arm.

 

She’s in an itchy turtleneck, unsure why she’s put so much care into looking nice. She’d even asked Scorpia to pick up extra laundry detergent so she could wash her nice pants. Catra drums the side of her leg with her nails and waits expectantly, wondering if she should ring again. The air is warm, and still, and the night is empty.

 

The door swings open. Adora looks confused for a split second before her gaze lands on Catra, and then she seems pleased. Noises of Razz and Mara bickering float through the doorway. Adora’s cast in warm, bright light. Catra’s first instinct is to wring her hands, but she struggles on account of the bottle, and settles for holding it out to Adora. “I brought wine,” she says, somewhat awkwardly.

 

All she can think about is her discovery two, three nights ago: _but you do like her._

 

“Wow, aren’t you cool,” says Adora immediately. Catra tries to clear her thoughts and think about the present. “Come on in.”

 

“Your mom’s cooking?” asks Catra hopefully.

 

“Wouldn’t let me touch the stove,” Adora reassures her. Catra snorts. Adora used to eat the _worst_ things as a kid – chocolate chip cookies and ketchup, french fries and milkshakes, bread dipped in soda. And then, as if Adora’s read Catra’s mind, “I _can_ cook, it’s just that Bow’s, like, way better.”

 

“I’m sure you can,” says Catra, placing a hand on Adora’s shoulder. “Just like you _can_ play Pokémon.”

 

“Low blow,” responds Adora, hand over her heart. “Too soon.”

 

“Adora, that was like, ten years ago.”

 

Adora wails. “We’re so _old,”_ she complains, and Razz takes this moment to enter the hallway and swat at her with a broom.

 

“Now you’ve got her going,” she says to Catra, rolling her eyes and placing the broom back against the wall.

 

Catra laughs, too, taking a moment to enjoy the familiarity. She feels, suddenly, like they’ve been doing this forever – Razz doesn’t watch Catra with the carefulness she expected. Instead, she happily says, “It’s been so long, dearie,” and wraps Catra in a hug. “How are you? We’ve missed you. Or at least, Adora has.”

 

“Razz,” moans Adora, “Don’t–”

 

“No,” says Catra, enveloped in Razz’s warm embrace. “Please, do. Adora, missing _me_? With her fancy Columbia friends?”

 

Razz snorts at that, and nods. “She knows how I feel about the Ivy League,” says Razz, and Adora rolls her eyes. Catra’s struck, again, by how _happy_ Adora looks, surrounded by her adopted mother and wearing a red button down top. She’s clearly dressed up for the occasion. Catra’s cheeks color.

 

And if Catra’s eyes stray to Adora’s neck when she swallows, well. That’s irrelevant.

 

“Catra!” says Mara suddenly, appearing in the hallway. Her accent is thick as ever, and her cheeks are rosy. She tucks a silvery hair that’s strayed from its bun behind her ear. “You are loitering in the hallway,” she says, disappointed, “when I have put out cheese and crackers for you.”

 

Catra smiles, a real and proper smile, and Adora says, “Yeah, Catra, come on.”

 

 _God,_ she’s missed the Alexin household.

 

They all sit down at the coffee table, and Catra takes some cheese with her crackers while Mara wanders back to the kitchen. “I better go check on her. One sec,” says Adora, patting Catra’s shoulder as she passes. Razz’s gaze follows Adora out and towards the kitchen, then settles on Catra expectantly.

 

“Law school,” blurts Catra, before the question’s been asked. She’s had to answer it enough times already.

 

Razz snorts. “I know. All Adora will talk about. Catra this, Catra that.”

 

Catra’s cheeks burn. “Oh,” she manages.

 

“It really is good to see you, dearie,” says Razz in that low, raspy voice of hers. She’s still the coolest person Catra knows, with four more piercings than Catra’s got, and probably a tattoo or two. “I always knew you’d go far.” She pauses thoughtfully, and before Catra can say thank you, adds, “Though I’m glad you also stepped back.”

 

“Right,” says Catra slowly.

 

“Adora’s missed you.” She says it expectantly, like Catra will understand some hidden meaning there.

 

Catra smiles and tugs at a strand of hair. “I’ve missed her, too,” she says easily. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

 

Razz sighs, disappointed, but doesn’t push it. “You look very well,” she says. “Are you going to be a lawyer?”

 

Catra shrugs, here. “I majored in poli sci, actually,” she says. “I just thought that law school would best get me the connections to the Senate.”

 

Razz nods. Catra remembers, vaguely, that Razz is very active in sustainability politics, based on the number of times Adora got pulled from school to join a protest. She mentions it to Razz, who lights up, and then they begin to discuss the regulations being put out to preserve forests.

 

It’s as easy as breathing, discussing politics with Razz. Adora comes in a couple minutes later, a surprised look on her face as she watches Catra and Razz go back and forth on a local bill and whether or not it will pass. Catra uses a carrot stick to emphasize her point, describing the likelihood of each district voting for the bill.

 

She doesn’t even look up when Adora sits down. It’s kind of amazing, actually, Adora thinks, watching Catra jump from point to point effortlessly. She didn’t even realize Catra knew all this about sustainability. And Catra’s flush with excitement, eyes glittering, corners of her lips turned up in a smile – well, Catra looks _happy_ and _good,_ and Adora can’t help but feel a little enamoured with her for a moment.

 

Catra catches her looking as Razz starts in on a point, and lifts her eyes to meet Adora’s as she listens. Her smile is lazy and pleased, eyebrow quirked, and her two different eyes are striking in her brown turtleneck. Her gaze moves towards Adora’s chin, or something, for a split second, and then she looks back towards Razz.

 

Adora’s left with a quickening heart beat for no apparent reason.

 

“Um,” she says, suddenly flustered. “Mom says dinner’s ready.”

 

Razz smiles at Catra knowingly. “Adora likes politics, of course, but she isn’t nearly as knowledgeable.”

 

Catra stands and stretches. Adora tracks the little patch of stomach that appears when Catra’s shirt rises. “She was practically raised on sustainability stuff, though,” says Catra, snorting. She adjusts her shirt, pulling it down and glancing over to Adora with a challenging look. “Come on, Adora.”

 

“Huh?” Adora pauses, and then replays the conversation in her head. She’s been distracted watching – “Oh. Um. Sorry?”

 

Razz shoots her a _look_ that Adora doesn’t really understand. “Come on, then,” she says, like she’s talking to two very dumb teenagers, which is unfair, because Adora’s no longer a teenager. “We have a dinner to eat.”

 

She swallows any defensive comment when she sees that Mara’s waiting expectantly with several steaming bowls of food. “Mama,” she says, grin sliding into place, “you didn’t.” Mara did, in fact – there’s too much food and it’s _hot_ out and all Adora can think is how happy she is, how _right_ it feels to have Catra over for dinner.

 

She sneaks a look at Catra, who’s practically glowing. “This,” she says happily, “is why we’re friends again, Adora.”

 

Adora places a hand over her chest. “Hurtful.” She sneaks a look at the food. “But understandable.”

 

Catra snorts and knocks at Adora’s shoulder with a light fist. “Come on, stupid, sit down.”

 

“Language,” calls Mara as she slides into her own seat.

 

“Really, mama? You won’t call _Bow_ out for his language but you’ll call out Catra?”

 

Catra blinks at Adora for a moment, and then a smile spreads across her face. “Are you _defending_ my honor, Adora Alexin?” she says, raising a perfect eyebrow. Adora rolls her eyes at her and lifts up her shoulders in a half-assed _I don’t really know_ sort of motion. Mara laughs.

 

“Catra,” says Mara, “is family. Bow is – almost family.”

 

“He’s gonna be mad at you for saying that,” says Adora, picking up her fork and pointing it with an accusatory gesture.

 

Mara shrugs. “I do not see him very often.”

 

“Put that down and serve yourself some food,” responds Razz, and gives Catra a look Catra assumes means _our girls, huh,_ which makes Catra’s smile grow impossibly wider, because yeah, Adora _is_ her girl, even if – even if it’s not the way Catra wants it to be. She sighs, buries the thought, and takes a bite of food.

 

Immediately, her eyes are watering. “Oh my God,” she says, quietly to herself, and then, after she’s swallowed, she repeats herself. “Oh my _God,_ Mara.”

 

Mara smiles over at her. “Good?”

 

“More than good,” Catra assures her. “Better than good. It’s like – like Proust, right?”

 

Adora, who’s been reaching for the wine Catra brought, startles. “Like _who_?”

 

“You know, Proust and his, fuck, what was it?”

 

“Language,” calls Mara.

 

“His cookies, right, like a madeleine or something?” says Adora quietly, watching Catra with some sort of renewed interest. For some reason, annoyance flares up in Catra’s gut, because, _really,_ Adora, just because Catra didn’t get an _Ivy League education_ doesn’t mean she doesn’t know who Proust is.

 

But then she catches Adora’s eye, and realizes it’s not that at all, it’s something else that’s making Adora all soft and quiet. “What?” she says, feeling self-conscious.

 

“Proust’s cookie thing is, like, emblematic of how things remind you of your childhood,” explains Adora, mostly to Razz and Mara, who have also gone quiet. “He had this cookie and then was reminded of being a kid, something like that.” She starts grinning halfway through, though, and points her fork this time at Catra. “My _mom’s_ cooking is the thing that reminds you of your childhood?”

 

“Shut up, Adora,” says Catra, cheeks suddenly burning.

 

“You shut up,” says Adora.

 

“Whatever, okay, you were my best friend for _so long–”_

 

“Catra, stop, me too, okay?” Adora says, laying her hand on Catra’s forearm. Catra blinks at Adora for a moment. “Like, my Proust, or whatever, is the battle music of Pokémon, you know? I know that’s not a food, shut up,” she quickly adds when Catra opens her mouth, “but come _on._ That was the soundtrack to our childhood.”

 

Mara rubs her temples. “The little tiny song will haunt me forever.”

 

Adora is, however, undeterred. “I heard it the other day,” she continues, “and I was like, holy _shiiiiii–take_ mushrooms, you know? I felt like, five, eight, whatever. You remember how I used to make you name your Pokémon? I have all of them recorded in my diary, actually,” she says, laughing, “I think I made you draw them for me.”

 

“I remember that,” says Catra, smiling. “You were so pushy as a kid.”

 

“Was not.”

 

“Was too.”

 

“Shut up,” says Adora, and elbows Catra happily. Catra didn’t know she could be elbowed happily, but that’s Adora for you. Adora’s got this big, stupidly happy grin on her face, like Catra’s made her day or something. And Catra gets this feeling in her stomach, and thinks about WikiHow, and how she wishes Adora would feel the way Catra feels and–

 

“Dessert?”

 

“What?” Catra shakes her head. She’s not sure who asked. “Oh, wait, nevermind. Um–” she eyes the pots still on the table.

 

“There’s no rush,” says Mara quickly. “Adora just eats very fast.”

 

Catra snorts. _This_ is an age-old argument. Razz looks at her again, with that special _that’s our girls_ look, and Catra’s smirk widens again back into her probably dopey smile. She’s _content,_ sue her. Even if Adora never likes her back _that way,_ Catra gets all this. And that’s enough. That has to be enough.

 

“What do you want more of, dearie?” says Razz.

 

“Everything,” says Catra.

 

 

 

 

 

(february. 2019.)

 

“Adora,” calls a familiar voice as a bell chimes and a door to the shop swings open. Adora glances up to see Bow and Glimmer, arms interlocked. She breaks into a crooked smile and looks them up and down. Bow, of course, is outfitted in a spectacularly bright red pair of pants and heart-patterned shirt. Glimmer, on the other hand, is in a black and pink getup.

 

“Glimmer,” whines Adora, “you _promised_ you’d match with us.” She’s in a red turtleneck. “For the spirit of the holiday. And because, you know, I’m sad.”

 

Bow gasps pleasedly. “That’s what I said!”

 

Glimmer rolls her eyes and gestures up and down. “All pink. That’s valentines-y enough for me!”

 

“But you always wear pink,” Adora says.

 

“You always wear red,” points out Glimmer.

 

Adora scowls. “No attacking the girl in distress,” she says, and points at herself. “Let’s just get this supposedly ‘best in New York’ boba and not think about it.”

 

Bow, of course, is at her side in a moment, sliding into the seat next to her. “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” he says pleasantly, and rubs her arm, which is somehow way worse than asking. Adora frowns and looks down at her hands. “Glimmer and I are happy to just do a platonic friend-entines,” he tells her, and Glimmer snorts.

 

“That’s so repetitive, Bow,” Glimmer says.

 

Bow sighs. “What happened, Adora? I thought it was all okay–”

 

“I don’t know,” says Adora miserably. “She isn’t texting me.”

 

“Well, screw Catra,” responds Bow. “ _We_ got your texts.”

 

“You’re my best friends,” says Adora, sighing. “Come on, let’s get that boba.”

 

 

 

 

 

(august. 2018.)

 

Adora takes Catra’s slow, careful bites as an opportunity for seconds, and then thirds, to which Catra raises an eyebrow but says nothing else. “Still got the same appetite,” says Catra after a while, and Adora shrugs, her cheeks practically bulging with food. “I thought you got over the vacuum charade.”

 

“She is a full time vacuum,” says Mara disapprovingly in Adora’s direction. Adora’s cheeks color.

 

Adora lifts her finger and swallows a huge bite. “This is – slander,” she gasps, and Catra rolls her eyes.

 

“I think you stole the theatrics from me,” responds Catra, and dramatically places a hand over her heart. “Was it – no, it can’t be – was I a” – here she gasps – “ _b_ _ad influence_?”

 

Adora bursts into laughter. “Yes,” she says immediately, and Razz and Mara laugh, too.

 

“Wow, so harsh.” Catra stabs at her food and looks up at Adora with her best impression of a hurt expression. It stays there for a solid five seconds – long enough for the corners of Adora’s stupidly perfect smile to droop – and then Catra can’t keep it up and starts to full on cackle. “Your...face…” she manages.

 

Adora rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Catra,” she says.

 

It’s a wonder Mara hasn’t told them off for language.

 

 

 

 

 

(february. 2019.)

 

Adora makes them go to central park after drinking their boba. At the last minute, Glimmer opts for hot tea – “it’s too _cold_ outside, Adora,” she whines – and then spends a considerable amount of their walk being moody, which Adora knows isn’t fair, but. She’s _upset._ It’s hard not to be.

 

“We had a fight,” says Adora eventually, quiet. “Over, you know – distance.”

 

“I mean, you guys live in two different cities,” Bow responds quickly, reassuringly. “Long distance relationships of any kind are hard, especially if you’re used to being with one another.” He pauses and links his arm with Adora’s, placing his head on her shoulder as they walk. “But you guys care so much about each other. It will be okay.”

 

“And even if it isn’t right now,” says Glimmer, sliding her own arm into Adora’s other one just as Adora opens her mouth, “we’re right here for you, okay?”

 

Adora thinks about Catra, really, seriously thinks about Catra. About Catra’s plump lips, her canines that Adora always thought were a little too sharp, about the smatter of freckles across her nose, about the fact Adora _remembers_ all these stupid details even though they’re two hundred or so miles apart.

 

She angles her head so that it’s brushing the top of Bow’s. “You guys are the best,” she says softly.

 

“I’m sorry she’s not here,” says Glimmer quietly.

 

“It’s okay,” says Adora. “It _is_ a Thursday.”

 

“You’re worth a Thursday,” responds Glimmer, almost too quiet for Adora to hear.

 

 

 

 

 

(august. 2018.)

 

Catra practically falls onto Adora’s bed and sighs. “Wow, Adora, this room is like, exactly the same.” She points over the horse stickers on the dresser and snorts. “It’s like, _exactly_ how I remember it. Your moms must keep it tidy for you during the school year, then, huh?” She eyes Adora almost jealously, and Adora frowns.

 

“I mean, I have to clean it before I go off to New York, if that’s what you mean,” says Adora.

 

“I know,” Catra waves her hand, “it’s just. My dad, you know.”

 

Adora makes this expression that Catra can’t exactly describe, but immediately understands, something coming from years of watching Catra’s disappointment and maybe also sudden realization. Catra’s not sure, but she knows Adora knows what Catra means. “Oh,” says Adora quietly, and places her wine glass on the dresser before crossing the room to sit next to Catra.

 

“Oh, you remember,” Catra says as flippantly as she can.

  
“Of course I remember.” Adora’s tone is much more serious, much more careful. “I spent a lot of _Días de los Muertos_ you know, with you and without him.” She says the Spanish the way she always has, through a thick and terrible American accent. Catra smiles, though, when she hears Adora’s Spanish, just the way she always has.

 

“Yeah,” says Catra, “I remember that, too.”  
  
Catra remembers a lot of things. She remembers being fourteen and in love with Adora. She remembers the careful way Adora was her friend every November. She remembers her first Halloween with her, stuffing their faces with candy. She remembers endless perfect summers together.

 

Judging by the look on Adora’s face, Adora remembers all these too.

 

“You ever,” says Adora very softly, near a whisper, “just wish that we could be thirteen again and have a do-over on being friends?” She kicks her shoes off and crosses her legs over her soft pink comforter. Catra watches the flash of skin and notices the little friendship bracelet on her ankles.

 

She thinks, _did Bow or Glimmer make that for you?_ “Yeah,” she says instead, turning to face Adora and crossing her legs as well. “I mean – yeah. We were just such a mess then.” 

 

Adora’s brow furrows as she looks over to Catra. “I wish I could just tell myself I was a lesbian, you know?”

 

Catra sighs and nods, thinks about all the stupid things she did because she was afraid and because she was in love with Adora, and then thinks about how she’s still afraid, and still in love with Adora, and says, “Things haven’t changed as much as I’d have liked them to, though,” and Adora cocks her head in confusion.

 

“Hm?”

 

Catra spreads her hands on the bedspread and looks over to the window for a moment to see the street lights and the dusty-blue-purple sky, and sighs. “We’re still stupid messes,” she says. “Or at least.” She shifts uncomfortably and turns back to make eye contact with Adora. “I am.”

 

“Catra,” Adora says firmly, “you’re going to law school.”

 

“And you’re going to Columbia, whatever.”

 

“We’ll be a train ride away,” whispers Adora.

 

“Not the point,” says Catra, like she hasn’t spent too much time looking up ticket prices and train times and like she doesn’t feel a little shock of excitement that Adora’s at least _thought_ about doing the same thing. “I just mean,” she sighs. “What are we even doing, Adora? Like, what next?”

 

“Don’t get so existential on me,” responds Adora, huffing. She turns to look away and Catra takes the moment to admire her profile again, and then to chastise herself for looking. “I mean, you know I like to plan, but. Not now, okay?” She pulls Catra close to her and Catra startles and practically falls into her lap. “Let’s just – sit, okay?”

 

Catra thinks, _yeah, let’s just sit in your childhood bedroom while I think about all the times we kissed and about how I want to do it again and again and again._ She thinks, _come on, Adora, please just say you like me back._ She thinks, _I hate that this always comes to me loving you and you not loving me back._ “Okay,” she whispers anyway, settling further into Adora’s arms, and it’s not that it’s longing, it’s just–

 

 

 

 

 

(february. 2019.)

 

Bow eventually has to make his afternoon class and takes off, and then Glimmer gets a call from her mother about lunch, and so they both apologize to Adora excessively and then leave. Adora doesn’t mind so much. She decides to go to the university library and takes the subway with Bow there.

 

They chat idly on the subway but don’t really say anything about anything. Bow complains about the boy who keeps taking his seat, which he’s done before, and then he talks about how he got himself cool highlighters a week or so ago and how they finally came in the mail, so he’s going to use them today.

 

Adora laughs at him and calls him a nerd. He calls her a nerd back. They go their separate ways and Adora begins to head to the library when her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

 

 **catra** (1:13 pm): hey, adora

 **catra** (1:13 pm): come to your apartment

 

 _Catra._ She stops short. She knows she’s going to do as Catra asked (it’s not like Adora’s very good at saying no to Catra) but she’s nervous, maybe, and she bites her lip as she turns away from campus and towards her apartment. A complicated feeling makes her heart start to ache, and it’s not that it’s longing, it’s just–

  


 

 

 

 

(august. 2018.)

 

Catra leaves around eleven and Adora’s parting hug is a little too long, but it’s only because Adora hasn’t been able to hug Catra for _so long_ and her shampoo just reminds Adora of home and of her childhood and whatnot. That’s all. “Text me when you get home,” she says, once Catra has wriggled out of her embrace and given awkward, but much shorter hugs, to Adora’s moms.

 

“I will,” says Catra, and waves goodbye. She’s got a couple tupperwares filled with food tucked under her arm. Adora waits a little too long to watch her go, and then shuts the door.

 

Immediately Razz and Mara are on her. “Tea?” says Mara, pushing some peppermint into Adora’s hands and leading her towards the couch. Adora doesn’t even know what she’s going to say, just that there’s something to be said.

 

“What,” says Adora impatiently, and Mara and Razz exchange looks.

 

“Look, dearie,” says Razz gently. “She likes you back.”

 

 _“What?”_ Adora nearly chokes on her tea. “She likes me – look, no, you guys are clearly confused. We’re not – I’m not – we’re just _friends,_ okay, that’s all. We’re just. Reconnecting. As friends do. It’s no big deal, okay, just. I like her as a friend, right? She’s my friend. We’re – friends.”

 

Mara sighs. “You know, Adora, I said that about Razz a long time ago.”

 

“Yup,” says Razz, exasperatedly, “that’s my Mara.”

 

“Look, Mama, I’m not like – this isn’t like you and Razz, okay?” Adora takes another gulp of her tea, almost too hot to really gulp, and is surprised that when she rubs her eyes, her fingers come back glistening. She swallows a lump in her throat and wipes her hands on her pants.

 

“Adora,” says Mara gently, “it’s okay to be afraid. But Catra – she is Catra, after all.”

 

“You used to call her Catrina,” mumbles Adora.

 

“We’re not here to stress you out,” says Razz after a long pause. “You need to take your time, and we understand. But the way she looks at you–”

 

“She is family,” repeats Mara, more meaningfully.

 

Adora sighs. “I don’t, okay. I just – I don’t.”

 

“Okay,” says Razz, and stands up, offering her hand to Mara. She doesn’t say anything else, though for some reason, Adora wishes she would.

 

 

 

 

 

(february. 2019.)

 

 **adora** (1:15 pm): You’ve been ignoring my texts

 **adora** (1:15 pm): Why should I even talk to you

 **catra** (1:16 pm): i havent been ignoring ur texts

 **catra** (1:16 pm): ive just been. Busy

 **adora** (1:17 pm): I don’t know what that means

 **catra** (1:18 pm): come to your apartment

 **catra** (1:18 pm): please

 

 

 

 

 

(august. 2018.)

 

Adora thinks for a long time about her conversation with her moms. _She likes you back._ What does that even mean, anyway? That Catra wants to spend time with her? Adora has a stupid contract for _that._ She feels like she’s missing something, like she’s being stupid and overthinking everything.

 

She pauses, stops and dials Catra before she can help herself, although it’s nearly midnight, although Catra’s probably gone home by now. Catra picks up on the second ring and exhales, tinny and soft and – and _comforting_ on the phone. “Hey, Adora,” she says, the question half articulated in her inflection. “I just saw you, clingy.”

 

“Shut up,” says Adora. “I wanted you to come back.”

 

“Come back?” Catra repeats questioningly. “What?”

 

“Sleep over. I mean, I don’t know, just – sneak in through my window, stay the night.”

 

Catra’s laugh is soft and awkward and a low rumble in Adora’s ear and Adora suddenly feels a surge of confidence. “You were right, you know,” she says, already rambling before she’s even started, “tonight. When you said we were messes still. And I mean – we are. I am. And I’m so confused all the time, but you are. Well, you’re you.” She swallows a half-laugh and sighs into her hands. “I don’t know, does that make sense?”

 

What she’s trying to say is, _I love you but I don’t know if I love you like that and I’m confused and scared and tired and you don’t make me confused and scared and tired when you’re around, even though you’re the reason I’m confused and scared and tired,_ but she can’t say that, because that’s nonsense.

 

Catra seems to get the gist. “You know,” she says, “I just put the tupperware in the fridge, so. Let me grab some pajamas.”

 

“You’re the best,” says Adora.

 

“Hm,” responds Catra, “a girl could get used to hearing that.”

 

Adora snorts.

 

“You know,” says Catra after a pause, and Adora can hear in the background a car starting, “what I told you? At the beach, about your bat mitzvah?”

 

“You’d follow me everywhere,” breathes Adora, and bunches her hands into fists. She’s not sure why she remembers it so vividly, why she’s so _affected_ by her time this summer with Catra, but then she thinks about how she made her friends go to the grocery store for nearly a week at one in the morning to find her, and realizes maybe that’s enough of an answer.

 

“Yeah, that,” says Catra. She sounds winded, somehow. “That’s it.” There’s the faint sound of jazz in the background, which Adora assumes is from the car radio. “I can’t believe it’s, like, midnight, and I agreed to sneak into your bedroom because – I assume – you can’t sleep. Christ.”

 

“Shut up,” says Adora amiably. “Twelve-year-old me would be so jealous.”

 

Catra laughs again roughly. “Would you do the same, if I had asked?”

 

Adora thinks about it, thinks about the grocery store and the contract and the beach and the dinner tonight, and simply says, “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

 

“Huh.” Catra clicks her tongue. Adora thinks, too, that she’s really fortunate Catra isn’t making fun of her right now. She could be brutal and instead she’s just – being Catra. After a while, Catra talks again, shaking Adora out of her thoughts. “You remember that time I called you when I was sixteen?”

 

“Hm, yeah, to sleep on the phone with you?”

 

“We hadn’t talked in months,” she continues. “But you still did it. I remember that.”

 

Adora could say, _no shit you remember, you brought it up_ or _I would have done it even in college, how crazy is that_ but she doesn’t, just goes quiet and listens to Catra breathe as she mulls that memory over. After a while Catra says, “Look at how lame we are. I’m not even calling you lame for calling me.”

 

“You called me lame in the same breath,” points out Adora. “Actually, you called me lame right before you said you haven’t called me lame.”

 

“No, I said ‘we’, okay, that’s different.”

 

“How’s that different?”

 

“Because it means _I’m_ also lame.”

 

“Lameness doesn’t cancel out, Catra.”

 

There’s a sound of a car door slamming outside her window and over the speaker and Adora can’t help but grin, wide and excited. “What _ever_ , I’m here,” says Catra in a whisper. There’s a rap on her window. “Why is this fucking closed?” she says, and Adora rolls her eyes to hang up and moves to push the window open.

 

When she does, there’s Catra, leaning on the windowsill like it isn’t super late and like she does this all the time. “Hey, Adora,” Catra drawls.

 

“Shut up,” says Adora, and offers her hand.

 

“I got it.” Catra bats her hand away and heaves up. Adora hears rustling and decides she doesn’t want to know what Catra’s doing to the bushes outside. “I can’t,” she huffs, “believe...we didn’t…” another gasp of air, “do this...in high school.” With this, she pulls herself from the window and lands with a thump on the floor.

 

They both freeze. “...Adora?” comes a voice from down the hall.

 

“Dropped a book! Go back to sleep!” calls Adora back, and motions furiously for Catra to stay quiet.

 

“I just fucking came over for dinner, and now I’m a _secret_ ,” says Catra incredulously.

 

“Shut up,” whispers Adora.

 

“Make me,” Catra responds, crossing her arms and _pouting._

 

Adora looks at her, at her soft two-colored eyes and lazy stance and the way she breathes in sharply but almost imperceptibly when she notices Adora properly looking at her, even though Catra’s in just a tank top and sweatpants and all her earrings have been taken out and she’s probably brushed her teeth, ‘cause Catra’s like that, and she angles her chin up, just slightly, to meet Adora’s hungry gaze, and Adora thinks: _I want to kiss her,_ and then she realizes that she’s answered the _does she like Catra_ question all by herself, in her own time.


	7. (as the world goes on its wicked way)

(august. 2018.)

 

“...Catra?” Adora blinks open her eyes sleepily and the shape of her mama in the doorway begins to come into focus. Mara’s got an almost unreadable expression on her face as she looks at Adora and then to the girl curled up in Adora’s arms. The first clear thought that comes is _busted!_ It’s like Adora’s a teenager again.

 

Catra begins to stir, too, and stills when she sees Mara as well. “Um, hi,” she manages.

 

Mara looks at Adora, then at Catra, then at Adora’s arm around Catra’s stomach. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb. “I do not want to know,” she eventually decides. “But I am grateful you figured it out.” And before Adora can object, she shuts the door.

 

Adora opens her mouth. “I–”

 

Catra turns around to face Adora. Adora promptly shuts it.

 

Their noses are practically a centimeter apart. “Hey,” she breathes, and Adora can feel the puff of air against her own lips. If she just angled her face upwards – and then she remembers her realization last night, and Mara and Razz’s talk, and cuts off that thought as quickly as she can, blushing instead. “God,” says Catra, choosing not to comment on Adora’s darkening cheeks, “your morning breath is the _worst_.”

 

“Shut up,” says Adora, covering her mouth with her hand.

 

“You need a new motto, babe,” says Catra. Adora’s cheeks are practically on fire. They’re probably firetruck red. She takes in a shaky breath of air. _Babe._ Catra rolls her eyes and reaches up to peel Adora’s hand from her mouth. She intertwines their fingers, pulling their joined hands to the space between their chests. “It’s okay, I have morning breath, too.”

 

“Oh,” says Adora eloquently. She’s acutely aware of Catra’s hand, clutched in her own, pressed against her sternum. She thinks, _Catra’s morning breath isn’t that bad, actually._

 

“What’s this about figuring things out, anyway?” Catra makes no motion to move their hands. Adora realizes that their legs are entwined, as well, and tries to remember how to breathe.

 

“Um,” she says. “Uh, my moms talked to me about – um, us, actually.”

 

“And it upset you, so you called me,” guesses Catra, and then snorts. “Oh my God, Adora, you literally called me because you were upset.”

 

Adora shrugs defensively. “You calm me down,” she mutters, and then feels her cheeks heat up again, and then hopes sincerely Catra didn’t hear her. But Catra starts going all smiley, so of course she did, and Catra looking like this – messy hair, the corners of her eyes crinkling and her lips quirking upwards and Adora’s heart starts beating like it’s trying to escape her chest.

 

“I calm you down,” repeats Catra with that stupidly attractive smirk. Adora probably doesn’t look nearly as good. She probably has bags and puffy cheeks and her morning breath is a thousand times worse.

 

“Yes,” says Adora, momentarily distracted. “I mean, no. Well, yes. But–”

 

And then Catra rolls her eyes and lets go of Adora’s hands to roll on top of Adora and straddle her, which is, well. It’s like Catra’s trying to _kill_ Adora, because Adora _just_ figured out she’s in lo– that she _likes_ Catra like _that,_ and Adora’s heart cannot take it, and then Adora realizes she’s muttering this all to herself, but Catra’s so close she can hear it, because Catra’s smile is getting impossibly wider and then–

  
Catra moves forward, and Adora’s mind goes blank as she lifts her chin up, and–

 

Catra kisses her forehead.

 

“Oh,” says Adora, surprised. Catra snorts.

 

“You look so disappointed,” teases Catra, using her finger to push Adora’s chin back down so that she can bury her nose in Adora’s hair. Adora pauses and breathes in again, less disappointed than before as she relaxes into the embrace. It’s kind of awkward. It’s also weirdly comforting, so Adora isn’t complaining.

 

After a couple long minutes like that, with Catra happily arched over Adora like she’s shielding her from something, Adora says, “I thought you were gonna kiss me.”

 

Catra pulls back sharply and eyes Adora. “Do you want me to?” Adora becomes suddenly aware that her own hands are over her head and moves them to Catra’s side, rubbing her thumbs against the soft fabric of Catra’s tank top. “You’ve been blushing so hard all morning,” adds Catra quietly.

 

Adora doesn’t respond, just raises an eyebrow and tries not to embarrass herself further.

 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” says Catra, because of _course_ Catra knows what Adora’s thinking, and moves to kiss one of Adora’s burning cheeks. “It’s – cute.”

 

“Like how I called you at midnight and made you come back to my house?” Adora giggles – actually _giggles,_ and she’s surprised how light and clear the sound is.

 

“Yeah, like that,” says Catra, and kisses the other burning cheek.

 

Adora takes her in like that, with her blue eye and golden brown eye, and her long eyelashes, and the way a lock of hair has fallen out from behind her ears and is brushing Adora’s nose and thinks, yeah, she does want Catra to kiss her right now, but she can’t bring herself to say it aloud.

 

Instead, she whines, “Come on, Catra,” and wiggles her hips to make her point. Catra’s arms shake and she lowers herself to laugh into Adora’s collarbone, which tickles, and makes Adora laugh, too, and then Catra actually _kisses_ where Adora’s shoulder and neck meet and then Adora stops laughing and starts breathing really hard.

 

Catra comes up to look at her, as if she’s worried about the sudden change in Adora’s demeanor. “Did I…?”

 

Adora shakes her head wordlessly to signal that it’s okay, and then, even though Catra’s got her basically pinned, pulls her down for a quick, soft kiss on the lips – firm and sweet, but _soft_ and over far too quickly.

 

Catra doesn’t say anything for a long moment as she comes back up to stare at Adora searchingly, and then the corner of her lip twitches as she lowers herself back down on top of Adora. “Ballsy,” she says approvingly, taking Adora’s cheeks into her hands. They twist so that they’re tangled up with the sheets and each other and so that they’re side to side and they’re so close that Adora’s practically burning to close the gap.

 

They pause for a moment right before they do kiss, though, and Adora starts grinning at Catra, and then Catra is grinning at Adora, and then they’re both surging forward for a longer, more serious thing than the first time, and all Adora can think is, _wow, I should have done this earlier_ and _I could do this forever to make up for it._

 

They stay there all morning as an unspoken compromise.

 

 

 

 

 

(february. 2019.)

 

Adora opens the door to her apartment slowly and carefully, like Catra’s a robber and not her – not _Catra._ The smell of – _something_ wafts in through the kitchen and Adora blinks, looks down at her stupid Valentines outfit and thinks, _huh. Maybe I should change._ “Catra?” she calls. “I’m gonna change.”

 

There’s a soft smack like Catra’s hitting her palm with her forehead and then a pause in which Adora isn’t sure Catra heard her. And then, “Come into the kitchen first.”

 

“Fine,” says Adora, and edges towards the kitchen.

 

The first thing she’s struck by are the candles on the table, and then the table cloth, and then the rose petals on the ground, which she realizes make a path from the hallway and she just – didn’t notice them. Then she’s struck by Catra herself, in a black suit jacket with a burgundy turtleneck and dress pants, and she gulps. There’s a thin watch on Catra’s wrist that disappears into the sleeve of the jacket and then reappears as Catra’s stirring something.

 

Catra’s – stirring something?

 

Adora blinks again. “I feel like I’m hallucinating,” she says faintly.

  
“Sit down,” says Catra. “I didn’t text because I was busy getting supplies. There’s a box on the table. Open it.”

 

Adora shakes her head slightly and says, “Catra. You didn’t – how much did this cost?”

 

Catra shrugs. “I wanted to make it up to you, after our fight.”

 

“I thought you had a big exam today.”

 

“I lied.”

 

“Why would you – oh, so this would be a surprise.” Adora sighs and opens the box. Inside, there’s a soft red dress. “Catra, you didn’t–”

 

“You sound like a broken record today,” says Catra with a snort. She doesn’t stop stirring. Adora watches her hands and the watch that appears and disappears, and doesn’t say anything. “I’m making champurrado,” Catra adds, as if to answer one of the many, many questions Adora has. _Mexican drinking chocolate._

 

“Do you like it? This?” she asks a little anxiously after a pause in which Adora makes no move to speak.

 

“I – yes.” She frowns. “I just – I thought you were mad at me,” says Adora quietly. “I thought we were going to–”

 

“Idiot,” Catra says affectionately. And then, apologetically, “Long distance is hard.”

 

Adora nods. She can barely remember what they fought over, exactly, just that Catra was upset and said something hurtful and then they weren’t talking. “I miss being able to hug you all the time,” she says. “And holding your hand. And touching your hair. And – kissing you.” She flushes and scratches the back of her neck.

 

Catra rolls her eyes. “Very eloquent.”

 

“What _ever._ ”

 

Catra’s expression softens, though, and she looks like she’s not sure what they were arguing about either. “I shouldn’t have taken my stress from law school out on you like that, you know,” she says after a beat, voice low enough to be a whisper. “That wasn’t – that wasn’t fair of me.”

 

Adora knows that Catra isn’t good at apologies, but she can hear _I’m sorry_ in between the words Catra says, and she can see it in the dress and in the flowers and the hot chocolate and the fact Catra is here, in front of her, on a _Thursday afternoon_ in the wrong city just for her girlfriend, and decides that that’s apology enough. “I’m sorry too,” she whispers back, and clears her thought, her smile sliding back into place. “Did, um, Glimmer and Bow know–”

 

Catra seems to accept this. “Only Glimmer. Bow isn’t a good enough liar.”

 

Adora stands up and moves towards Catra, still clutching the dress. It dawns on her that she is really, really unable to comprehend what’s going on. Catra, in New York. Catra, not mad at her. Catra, here on Valentine’s day. Catra – and there her choppy and slow thought process is cut short when Catra places a hand on her waist and Adora, as if by muscle memory, rests her arms on Catra’s shoulders.

 

 _Long distance is hard,_ remembers Adora suddenly.

 

“Catra,” says Adora, trying very hard to remember how to put words together, because her girlfriend is here, and so close, and – _is Catra wearing eyeliner?_ – and then shakes her head. “Catra, um, actually.”

 

Catra stills. “...What?” She looks a little nervous.

 

Adora shakes her head and says, “Long distance isn’t – it’s not going to be a problem, okay?”

 

“Adora, you can’t promise that–” Catra’s expression twists. Adora can hear what she means to say: _we agreed we would figure it out – figure out everything – together, right?_

 

“No, I mean,” she says impatiently, and then, “I’m moving to Boston,” all in a rush. “Next year, I mean, because I, um, got a job. With this nonprofit. Teaching to underprivileged kids and like, tutoring foster kids, it’s kind of hard to explain, but basically. I get to teach about the Medieval period, and like, about swords, in partnership with the Museum of Fine Arts and um, Harvard, actually, and–” She cuts off suddenly when she sees the way Catra’s looking at her, and a wave of embarrassment washes over her. “Sorry, I just – I wanted to tell you, but then we got into a huge fight and–”

 

“Adora,” Catra says, effectively shutting her up. “That’s amazing news.”

 

Adora beams. “It is, isn’t it?”

 

Catra beams right back, then seems to catch herself, shaking her head and letting out a weary sigh. “God, I can’t believe I’m in love with a sword-loving, Medieval-studies-addicted _nerd_ ,” she says, mostly to herself.

 

Adora freezes. “You’re in love with me?” she asks quietly.

 

“Yeah,” hums Catra. “Isn’t that lame?”

 

“Shut up,” says Adora. They stand that way for a while, and Adora lowers her head so that they rest their foreheads together, silent but content to stay this way for an extended moment. Struck by an afterthought, she murmurs, “If someone doesn’t love you the way you are, then they don’t really love you at all.”

 

“Hm?”

 

Adora pulls away for a moment, cupping Catra’s soft cheeks in her hands. “It’s something my mama used to say to me all the time,” she says. “You just – you reminded me of it. I just – I don’t know. You’re the only girl I’ve ever loved who – who loved me just for being me, I guess.” Adora frowns.

 

Catra’s quiet for a moment, and then looks down to her hot chocolate and then back up to Adora. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m the only girl, Adora,” she says, and Adora laughs. She can see Catra smiling, can practically hear the repeated _she loves me back_ on loop in Catra’s head, pretends not to notice.

 

“Yeah, maybe,” she admits, and watches Catra put the lid on the pot and turn off the stove. The only girl Adora was ever going to end up with. She waits for Catra’s hands to find their way back to her waist, that comfortable position, waits for Catra to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She thinks for a moment about how long she’s been waiting, about how many years they wasted waiting–

 

She shakes her head, and pulls Catra in herself.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> & thats a wrap folks! ive been trying to accurately sum up my feelings as to ending this fic, which im going to genuinely miss writing, and ive come up blank. oh well. i really hope yall enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to the MANY people who sat thru me rambling abt this...lo, iz, ana.....yall are so good i owe u one...  
> if u liked this chapter and want me to Write More please let me know by leaving a comment ! thanks for reading ! <3
> 
> as always im @figbian on tumblr if u wanna come say hi or like. yell at me or whatever


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